


Reclaiming Happiness

by Wherewithal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bipolar Castiel, Bottom Dean, Depressed Dean, Doctor Michael - Freeform, First Time Bottoming, Human AU, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Making This Up As I Go, Mental Hospital, Mental Instability, Psychiatrist Castiel, Recovered Addict Sam, Suicide Attempt, Top Castiel, crazy cas, temporarily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wherewithal/pseuds/Wherewithal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime between last week and fifteen minutes ago Dean decided life just wasn’t worth it anymore.  He was tired—sick of himself and staring down the necks of amber whiskey bottles.  So he traded his whisky for a new tunnel: the barrel of a gun, and there was no light at the end of it. </p><p>An unsuccessful suicide attempt forces Dean into a mandatory 72 hour stay at a mental hospital. After three days of hell and a cast of unforgettable characters, Dean leaves without looking back. He doesn't expect to run into a patient out in the real world. Dean gets wrapped up in a somewhat desperate friendship with the slightly manic and unstable Castiel, who sometimes makes him want to try to kill himself all over again, but more often than not, make him reclaim his happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first fan fiction! I have no idea what's in store, I have certain plot points, but I'm sort of making it up as I go. I'm sure it's going to have a bunch of mental health related triggers so be warned.

Sometime between last week and fifteen minutes ago Dean decided life just wasn’t worth it anymore.  He was tired—sick of himself and staring down the necks of amber whiskey bottles.  So he traded his whisky for a new tunnel: the barrel of a gun, and there was no light at the end of it.

“Awesome” His voice was quiet and the edges of the word were slurred.  Thank you Jack Daniels, you made it easier to click off the safety. The pitter patter of birds and the mindless thrum of children’s laughter knocked on his door and shook the window begging Dean to come outside into the sunshine. There was a world out there; Dean wasn’t resigned to these four walls and these permanently switched-off lights. Dean knew there was a whole big world out there, that wasn’t the problem.  The problem was he knew he couldn’t be a part of it.  He’d never been a part of it. 

“Okay, here we go.” This was it, the end. There was relief, mostly relief Dean told himself, but his hand was shaking so bad he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold his gun still enough to hit his target.  Was he scared? With his shitty luck he’d end up on the news because he’d fucked up and shot half his face off.  Did he want that, to not succeed and accidentally survive? Dean shook his head to ready himself—in a few seconds it wouldn’t matter what he felt because he’d be dead and it’d all be over.  He wouldn’t have to feel a goddamned thing.

 His finger nudged the trigger. He couldn’t do it.

“Fuck!” Dean threw his face into his free hand and gnashed his teeth as a few hot tears wet his palms without his consent. “Come on Dean you fuck up. You can’t even do this? You can’t even do this one thing? Fuck! You fuck up everything, and you fucked this up too.”

And just like that, the gun went off. Dean didn’t hear the gunshot, didn’t know if he’d pulled the trigger on purpose or by accident. He went from zero to oblivion before he could formulate another thought.

_______________________

 

 Everything hurt. Vaguely Dean was aware of himself.  Something told him that he was waking up, but his eyes wouldn’t open and his body refused to move. That was okay by him though, he wanted to crawl back into the darkness where hurt was nonexistent and everything was nothing.

“Dean…Dean…Dean”

 The noise, which by anyone else’s standards would have been soft (albeit firm in tone), crashed against his skull like a giant wave beating a cliff. He scrunched up his face into some kind of expression of contorted displeasure and cracked an eye open.

 Too bright. He shut the eye, because he was so not ready to deal with talking to the fucking sun, but that made the noise worse.

 “Dean…Dean it’s time to wake up.”

 “Mmmm” His voice sounded gruff even to his ears. Dean went to lift his hand up to rub his closed eyes, but when he touched his face there was something hard on his finger and his cheek hurt like hell.

 “Tessa we’re going to need some morphine over here.”

 “Dean, come on Dean, oh there are those pretty green eyes.”

 To say Dean was disoriented was an understatement. Everything was too bright, too loud, and he had no idea where the hell he was.

 “Dean honey you’re in the hospital. I’m Jody Mills, I’m a nurse here. Okay honey I know it hurts.”

“I, why, why am I here?” It was one thing to be told he was in the hospital but it was something completely different to know why the fuck he was in the hospital. After wracking his brain for answers, and he was pretty sure he strained the memory part of his brain, he realized he had no idea what the last thing he remembered was. “Wh-ooooh” God there was some kind of hammer hitting him right in the head or something.

 “Do you want me to give you pain medicine?” Jody asked, but it was mainly a formality, she already had the bag hooked up to the IV.

 “Yes, fuck yes.”

 A rush of relief filled him instantly, but the pain wasn’t completely washed away. No that would be too easy.

 “You suffered a shot to the head.”

 Dean blinked and tried to process the information. For the life of him he could not remember when this mysterious gunfight occurred. He was pretty sure he hadn’t left the house in days. Who would have wanted to shoot him anyway? Then it occurred to him: he was the shooter.

 “Nooo, no, no, no.” It didn’t all come crashing back, he didn’t have the vocabulary necessary to know he was suffering from a tiny case of retrograde amnesia, but he’d planned to kill himself for a while now, and that plan included a gun. The fact that he was having this conversation at all meant that while he’d gone through with his suicide plan, he’d fucked it up. He was still alive.

 “This wasn’t supposed to be, to happen.”

 “Okay honey, it’s going to be alright. Just calm down. Tessa get the doctor. Dean sweetie it’s really…”

 Jody’s words trailed off into nothingness as Dean stared at the perforated white ceiling.  Dean’s life had been a series of major fuck ups, but this was by far the worst shit he’d pulled yet. He’d had one mission, one fucking goal, and he’d screwed it up big time. This wasn’t a part of the plan; he was supposed to be dead. Now he’d have to deal with the fallout of yet another thing he’d failed to do right. How much money was this going to cost him? And fuck what was Sammy going to say? Thinking about his brother made his stomach churn. He could not deal with this shit.

 “Dean, nice to see you awake finally.” It was a man’s voice. Dean snapped his eyes away from the ceiling but kept his head in place.

 “I’m Dr. Michael Novak, I’m the one who preformed your surgery and oversaw your care. Let’s just take a look at your chart and okay….”

 “I’m supposed to be dead.”

 Dr. Novak’s eyes shot up and off the paper. “Yes, you are. But you’re not. You’ve got a few angels looking out for you.”

 “Fuck you.” The gravity of the situation was becoming overwhelming for Dean. He was handling his whirlwind of emotions by lashing out. “This isn’t funny—“

 “I never said it was.”

 “I wanted to die you asshole. But because of you I’m stuck here with a million freaken’ tubes in me, and I’m, I’m still, oh God I’m so fucked.” He didn’t mean to, and he tried not to, but his breath hitched and his throat constricted, and suddenly he was crying. There weren’t sobs, or heaves, just sad little tears and a frown that would fight and twitch to stay down every time Dean tried to flip it around.

 “It’s okay Dean, here.” Dr. Novak moved forward to hand Dean several tissues from his pocket—but Dean’s body was too limp to grab them. So the doctor took the liberty of scrunching up a tissue and wiping the water off Dean’s cheeks. “You’re really overwhelmed, it’s okay. I’m sure all of this is extremely disorienting.” It was, and it was also very embarrassing.  In no world did Dean want to be crying in front of some guy.

 “I’m fine, okay, I’m good now.” It was false bravado, but at least it was some kind of bravado.

 “It’s okay if you’re not you know.”

 “I said I’m fine.”

 “Okay. Well…I just want to ask you a few questions, make sure your mind is clear.”

 Dean narrowed his eyes at Dr. Novak. He didn’t like being at the mercy of some rich, successful, pretty boy.  Dr. Novak was tall, and incredibly handsome with black hair and blue eyes. He was also a fucking doctor. Dean didn’t want to answer any questions and he didn’t want to look at Dr. Novak for more than five seconds.

 “Can you tell me your full name?”

 “Dean Winchester”

 “Very good. And how old are you?”

 “Twenty eight…” Sure, Dean knew there was validity to this exercise but it just seemed so fucking stupid.

 “Year?”

 “…2015?”

 “Yes”

 Dean thanked his lucky stars he got the year correct, he wouldn’t know how to handle it if it was twenty years in the future or some shit.

 “Okay Dean, I’m just going to give you a run down of what happened. The bullet entered through your right temple and out of the right side of your forehead. Your right temple and your brow bone were in pretty bad shape. First we went in and removed the bullet, then we worked on rebuilding this area.” Dr. Novak gestured to the side of his face with a sweeping crescent motion.

“Lucky for you I wanted to be a plastic surgeon before this. You have a line of micro stitches close to your lash line from when we opened up your face, and I tried my best to leave as little visible damage as possible. All things considered you were pretty lucky. We didn’t have to pull out any dead brain tissue or anything like that, the angle made the wound pretty shallow. Here’s the thing though, you’ve been unconscious for about a week. We actually induced a coma because we thought it would be easier on you.”

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.” Dean grit his teeth to keep his body from performing his emotions. All this information was just a little too much right now. He didn’t want to know that he’d lost a week, and he sure as hell didn’t want to think about how fucked up his face was going to be for the rest of his life.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“No it’s not, it’s really not.”

 Dr. Novak’s lips pursed and he took a deep breath before placing a hand gently on Dean’s shoulder.  Dean wasn’t sure if the touch was welcome or not.  Currently his main focus was what was going on in his head.

 “I’m gonna look so awful, all because I missed.”

 Though Dr. Novak was a doctor, he was not a psychiatrist or a psychologist, so he decided to gloss over the last part of Dean’s sentence, but he could certainly address Dean’s anxieties over his appearance.

 “What? No. You’re going to look exactly the same. Do you want to see yourself? There’s some swelling, but otherwise it’s really not bad.”

 The possibility that Dr. Novak was sugar-coating things was a little too high for Dean’s liking. Truthfully he didn’t know if he could handle seeing himself all messed up like Quasimodo.

 “Here take a look.” The medium sized hand mirror jutted out towards him and was ominous at best. Dean kept his face to the side and his eyes purposefully downcast. He wasn’t ready to look; he needed to brace himself first. Anything could happen in that mirror. There could be a totally different person staring back at him, or even a monster. Very tentatively Dean peered into the mirror. The first thing he noticed was how pale he looked. And thin. He took a shaky breath and focused in on what was surely the problem area. Dr. Novak was right, he was swollen, but he still looked like himself.

 “I’ll remove the bandage so you can really see.”

 Dean winced as two skilled fingers peeled back the white bandage. His face was so incredibly sore.

 “Oh yeah, that’s healing up nicely.”

 The outer corner of Dean’s forehead, down to his temple, was an interesting mixture of black, blue, and some kind of upsetting yellow. The area was puffy and there were a few short stitches where Dean assumed the bullet flew in and out of. But he looked, well he looked like he’d look normal eventually.

 “See, nothing to worry about. Once this heals up you’ll be handsome as ever.” Dean raised a questioning eyebrow at his doctor calling him handsome, but immediately regretted it. He was going to have to restrict his brow movements for the foreseeable future—that muscle was right in the affected area.

 “The swelling actually went down quite a bit. Another two weeks, maybe even a week, and you’ll start to look really good.”

 “It hurts like hell though.” It felt like his whole face was throbbing. Dean reached up to touch the line of stitches along his lash line, but his index finger was quickly swatted away.

“Try not to touch that.” Dr. Novak’s sentence was delivered so quickly Dean almost couldn’t comprehend it. “I can give you a little more morphine, here.” He uncapped the extending tube of the IV and inserted the tip of a drug filled syringe into it. The new rush of painkillers left Dean sighing. 

“So I’m going to leave you with the nurses, and I’ll check up on you later, but before I go do you have any questions for me?” 

The problem was Dean had too many questions. The other problem was that Dean didn't think Dr. Novak could answer most of them. So Dean settled for an easy one.

“How long am I gonna be here for?”

“My guess is another week, maybe a little less if it looks like you’re doing really well.”

Another week, one on top of the one Dean spent unconscious. He watched Dr. Novak leave and didn't return the man’s goodbye. Despite the doctor’s exit Dean was not alone, Jody was there doing whatever it is nurses do, but Dean knows she was just pretending to look busy; she’s there to watch him.

 

Dean spends the rest of the day stewing in his own juices. Mostly he’s shocked. He’s also thirsty. It takes the entire night and half of the next day for his depression to overpower his disbelief of the situation.


	2. Chapter 2

Day two and Dean’s already planning his next suicide. He wasn't confident he actually wanted to go through with another attempt, but the vision he had of washing down a bottle of Advil with something like brandy or gin was seductive and Dean got sucked into the fantasy. All thoughts of alcohol had Dean squirming in the narrow hospital bed.  He’d do anything for a drink. The constant waves of morphine helped abate the need for alcohol, but he wasn’t as fuzzy today as he was yesterday, and it was a damn shame.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was in a worse place now than he was before he’d woken up with a hole in his head and a bunch of tubes in his body. There were serious consequences for trying to shoot yourself, or in Dean’s case, successfully shooting himself. The hospital wasn’t free, and well, Dean didn’t have any money, but aside from that he was going to need help for a while. Worse than needing help, which was bad enough, people would have to find out about what he did, and Dean just wasn’t sure he could take that. He didn’t want to have to drink in their disappointment. They’d all look at him and know how much of a fucking idiot and loser he was.  They’d look at him and see how he’d tried and failed to kill himself, and they’d be disappointed he hadn’t finished the job.

It might actually be easy to die after this, Dean thought as he entered the thirty-minute mark of being catatonic. When he was discharged he could pretend to do everything the doctor said, but really he could just lay in bed like this and stay so very still. He was practicing for death, and the heavy weight on him, like an elephant applying pressure, or a car trapped over him, didn’t feel good exactly, but it felt right; it assured him that death was inevitable, and that it would come soon. Yes, Dean thought, he could waste away in his dark room and starve to death. It wouldn’t exactly be an active death, and it wouldn’t have the violent flourish he desired, but he’d tried it bloody and it hadn’t worked. Maybe he just needed to try something a little different.

“What do you think, how about we try some solid food?” It was Jody again. The dully cheerful tone of her voice bordered on motherly, and it made Dean somewhat ill. It took all his willpower to slowly turn his head to the side to look at her. The elephant wouldn’t let up.

“We got some chicken soup for you, and a jello, looks likes cherry to me. There’s water, but I grabbed you an apple juice too.” Dean eyed the tray skeptically—nothing looked particularly appetizing.

“Let’s lift this up a little bit.” And just like that Dean was sitting up…well kind of, for the first time in over a week. It really only felt like a day though. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Really? You don’t just want to try a little?”

“No, not really.”

Jody frowned a little, Dean could tell she didn’t want to fight, but he underestimated her will.

“Just a few bites, we need to see if you can keep down solid food. Do you want me to feed you or do you want to do it—“

“I can do it.” Truth be told Dean wasn’t actually sure he could do it, but there was no way he was going to play here comes the choo choo train when he was a grown ass man. His grip on the spoon was weak, and his hand shook a little when the soup was air born, but he got it in his mouth just fine. Oh man was that soup salty. It tasted like they’d seasoned salt with more salt and then said what the hell let’s throw in some more salt. This shitty food was not reinvigorating his will to live. Jody was adamant he eat it though, and it was easy enough to ignore the taste after a while. Dean had always been a good eater, even if his famed enthusiasm for food had died down in recent weeks.

“Apple juice?” She asked as he finished up the soup. Jody had her hand on the cap ready to twist.

“Got anything stronger?”

 Jody’s eyebrows pulled up in mild surprise as she drew a playful stern-mom face.

“This probably isn’t the time to be throwing back shots.”

“I’d be okay with a beer.” His voice was playful, teasing even, and it made Jody blink with surprise.  For the entirety of Dean’s conscious stay he’d been quite the sourpuss, not that she particularly blamed him, but there was a hint of personality deep down in there somewhere. It made her smile.

“Oh honey I’m sure you would be, I think we all would be, but for now you’re gonna have to settle for apple juice.” She untwisted the cap and stuck a blue striped bendy straw in it.  Dean hadn’t had apple juice since he was a kid.  The sweet taste brought on a stinking sense of nostalgia—one he wasn’t sure he liked or hated. Honestly there wasn’t much out there Dean did like right now, everything sucked.

For another hour or so, Dean watched the Maury show on the tiny TV screen across the ceiling. He hated it. Daytime television was an abomination. Tendrils of pain slid down his skull like angry fingers combing through his hair. Whether it was his head injury causing his discomfort, or the Maury show slowly killing him, he didn’t know.

“Dean?” Jody again, she seemed happy. “You have some visitors.” Reality came crashing down. It’d been so easy to fall in and out of understanding the complexities of his situation, but oh shit yeah, visitors. Dean shut his eyes and tried to count to ten. Somewhere between seven, eight, and “you are not the father”, Dean resigned to his fate.

 Sam entered first, he had a big bunch of flowers, which was so weird because Dean couldn’t remember the last time he saw Sam holding a bouquet. A white plastic grocery store bag was hanging off his other giant gigantor hand. His hair was kind of longer than Dean was hoping for, and he needed to shave a little, but mostly Dean was focused on how damn sad and uncomfortable Sam looked. Bobby brought up the rear, a lot less frantic than Sam had been, but Bobby’s exterior calm broke somewhat quickly, making Dean all the more stressed.

“Dean! Oh God Dean!” Sam shouted as he practically ran to the side of the bed. It was obvious Sam was going in for a bear hug, the desperation on him reeked, but upon seeing Dean’s fragile state, he stopped mid reach with an unsure expression plastered onto his face.

“It’s okay Sammy, you can hug me.”

 Their hug was gentle. Sam avoided Dean’s head like the plague, but his brother’s touch felt good, even if the aftertaste left Dean feeling sour and ashamed. It didn’t help that Sam got all teary eyed as soon as he let go. Bobby also seemed like he was one trigger away from breaking his unemotional mask. He greeted Dean with a shaky: “How ya feeling boy?” and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m, I’m okay I guess.” It was awkward, even to Dean, but poor Sam looked like he was going to explode. So Dean filled up the silence.

“What’s with the flowers?”

 “Oh!” Sam shuffled them a little and moved the plastic bag around. “They’re for you. Now that you’re um, you know, awake, we thought it might cheer up the place.”

Dean wasn’t exactly a flower person, but he wasn’t going to spit on a gift from his brother…and potentially Bobby as well.

 “Thanks Sammy”

“We got you some before but they died…” Sam threw his eyes to his lap and frowned. He looked like a little kid again which drew up some kind of maternal instinct in Dean that told him to comfort.

“It’s, no that’s real nice of you guys. I wish I could’ve seen them.” Dean gave Bobby a look because he couldn't bear looking at Sam.  Unfortunately Bobby wasn't faring much better.

 “You look better then the last time we saw ya. That doctor of yours is real—“

Bobby got cut off when Sam started crying. He wasn't blubbering like a baby, nor was he terribly loud, but there was some sniffling and some tears.

 “Oh Sammy no come on—“

“You could have died Dean.  If I hadn’t gone there when I did, if Bobby hadn’t called me cuz he was worried, you’d you’d-”

 “Okay but I’m not.  I’m here, I’m fine, everything’s fine.”

 “It’s not fine!”

 “Sam! Come on—“

“No Dean yer brother’s right, you’re not fine.” As touching as Bobby’s concern was, Dean would not be dealing with this shit.

“What are you talking about, I’m fine! See I’m talking I’m fine! I’m a little banged up but I’ll be good as new in no time.” 

“Dean if you were fine you wouldn’t be here.” Sam practically hissed. “Fine people don’t, they don’t shoot themselves in the face!” Sam’s outburst may have felt good to him, but it made everyone else feel like shit. Bobby was always good at saying the right thing at the right time, so he intervened before Sam could derail Dean.

“Sam.” Bobby’s tone was firm but not sharp. Sam was hurting, hell, they were all hurting, but he felt like yelling at Dean while he was half dead (maybe just like a quarter dead) in the hospital wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

“He’s got a point Dean. You’re not right in the head.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Dean receded into himself and turned his face away from the only family he had left. Sam wasn’t going to have it though—he fought back.

“Not talking is what got us here! You were sick enough that you—that you tried to kill yourself, and no one knew a damned thing! You could have come to me!”

“Sammy enough.”

 “No! You’re sick Dean and you need help. The first step I took towards getting better was admitting I had a problem and talking about-“

 “Spare me your twelve-step gospel. I’m glad you’re clean and sober Sammy, I really am, but it’s not the same thing for me and I’d rather not hear it from you.”

 “Dean I found you! Do you have any idea what that was like?”

 Dean shut up, because no, he had no idea. He didn't even remember pulling the trigger.

 “Okay we all gotta calm down.” Bobby interjected as he raised two placating palms. “We should be happy we’re all here-“ The dialogue died in his throat when he saw Sam hard eyed and Dean practically checked out.

 “I told you guys I’m fine.” Dean bit out. “I did something stupid, and I’m paying for it. It’s not gonna happen again okay, no sequel. I just want to get out of here and go home.”

 An uncomfortable pause fell upon both Bobby and Sam. Somehow brave, even after Dean and his mini-spat, Sam spoke up.

 “Um, you can’t go home right away.”

 Dean’s brows furrowed together. He didn’t like where this was going.

 “Once you get discharged from the hospital you have to um, go to a mental hospital for three days. You have to be on suicide watch and they have to um, you know assess you and get you help.”

 “What!? Why?!” There was nothing more obvious than Dean’s displeasure. Sure, he knew some things about suicide, like that he’d tried to do it, and that some pills wouldn’t even kill him, but the legal mechanics were foreign to him. He hadn’t researched because he hadn’t planned on surviving.

“It’s the law Dean.” 

“Well _fuck_ the law and fuck their _assessment_.”

“Come on boy, all this anger can’t be good for you.” Bobby was trying pretty desperately to be the mediator, but he was just as emotionally invested in this as everyone else, so it proved difficult. “Why don’t you show em’ what we brought him Sam?” Anything to cut the tension.

Sam reached into the plastic bag he’d brought and pulled out a white paperboard box held together by red strings. He fumbled with the bow a little before using sheer strength to rip the damn thing off.

“We got you a pie.” Sam sounded sad as he lifted the lid to display the treat inside. “It’s from a bakery.”

“We got you the good stuff.” Bobby chimed in.

While the pie was a sweet gesture, it made Dean feel like a total asshole for yelling at his brother.

“What kind?”

 “Apple”

“My favorite…Thank you…really.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally at the mental hospital, and finally with Cas!

Sam and Bobby visited everyday, and the week passed as well as Dean let it. On the third day of being awake, Dr. Novak announced that Dean needed to stretch his legs.  Jody and the other nurse Tessa helped him wobble around.  The good news was that Dean could walk. No wheelchair or cane in his future. Sure, he was a little unsteady, but that was more to do with fatigue than a lasting brain injury.

 Dr. Novak came to visit almost as much as Sam and Bobby. The part of Dean’s brain that was potentially damaged was the frontal lobe. Dean wasn’t gonna lie, it was a little scary hearing about what could go wrong up in his head. The hospital was monitoring him and he had to sit in a coffin of an MRI for like an hour, but really only time would tell if his wayward bullet made any lasting damage.

The end of the week was there before Dean knew it. Two more bouquets of flowers decorated his little section of the hospital room. Sammy’d gotten cute and picked one up with a stuffed bear attached to it. The stupid furry thing even had a plastic Band-Aid on its head. 

Dean tried to keep from spiraling, but pushing out his anxieties about going to a fucking mental ward wasn’t easy. Of course he recognized that he had…issues, but in no way did he think his dumb mind warranted such an over reaction. He wasn’t crazy! No, Dean thought, he was just tired.

Dr. Novak walked into the room, clipboard in hand.  Usually Dean’s dashing doctor was full of smiles, but today his mouth was firmly set in a straight line.  Overall the doctor seemed out of it—less like an authority figure and more like a patient. Dean narrowed his eyes slightly as Dr. Novak clicked his mouth and looked down at his chart. He usually said hi first. Something was definitely wrong.

“So how are we feeling today?”

 “I could ask you the same thing.” Dean arched a questioning brow at the man who seemed somewhat startled by the question.

“That’s an atypical way of asking me how I am.” He was trying to brush off the awkwardness and skirt around the issue, but Dean was the king of that and he wasn’t about to be dethroned.

“You’re not your normal outgoing, peppy self.”

“Oh well, you know, bad days and good days.” Dr. Novak offered Dean a weak smile. It was fake, and Dean could see through the knock off.

“Uh huh. Something wrong Doc?”

“Don’t worry about me, you need to focus on yourself! Any pain? Your swelling has gone down so much.”

 “Listen Doc, you’re my head doctor and I wanna know you’re good. I can’t have you pulling out stitches when you could burst into tears at any second.” Dean had a harsh vocabulary but he delivered his words carefully so that he sounded more genuinely interested in Dr. Novak’s wellbeing and less like an asshole trying to figure out doctor gossip. 

“I uh, I mean I’m okay. Just some family stuff.”

“It serious?”

“It’s always serious. I’m going to take out your stitches now okay. You might have a little discomfort but nothing too bad.”

“Okay…” Dr. Novak pulled on a pair of latex-free gloves (too many latex allergies in the hospital apparently) and fumbled with some small tools.

“Just try and stay still.” The corners of Dr. Novak’s mouth were pulling downwards.  Dean wanted to stay silent as a weird smelling yellow gel was swept onto his face, but even depressed out of his mind he was a nurturer.   

“So, uh, what happened?”

“Just uh, something with my brother. Stay still, I’m going to be cutting these guys off now.” Dean heard a snip and kept his head pressed against the bed.

“Bigger or younger?” 

“Younger.”

“I got a kid brother too.”

“I know. He seems like a nice kid.  Tall though, oh my God.”

“Yeah, Sammy’s the best.  He’s the smartest person I know, even if he can be an idiot sometimes. Smart people are like that you know, no common sense.”

“Yeah, my brother’s like that too. Too smart if you ask me.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s kind of a weirdo honestly, but we love him.  He has got some really poor social skills—my other brother and I thought he had Aspergers when we were teenagers. He doesn’t, we were just jerks.”

“Yeah Sammy’s a total nerd. Big time.”

 “Really? He seems too athletic for that.”

 “You checking out my brother?”

“Maybe not checking him out, but he’s seven feet tall, I’m going to look.” He pulled out a stitch with a slight smile. “My brother’s had a few…episodes. It never gets any easier though, dealing with them.”

Dean wasn’t exactly clear on what that entailed, but he knew when not to push, so he kept from asking more questions.

“Well at least he’s got you huh? You sound like a good big brother.”

“We’ll see about that.” A few seconds of silence overtook them as Dr. Novak removed the rest of the stitches in a burst of concentration. Dean had to admit, getting the ones out of his eyelid were a pain in the ass. They had to use a magnifying glass and everything. 

“All out. You no longer look like Frankenstein.”

“Are you calling me ugly?”

“You? Please. All the nurses ever do is talk about how cute the patient in 304 is. Frankenstein stitches and all.” The doctor held up the hand mirror so Dean could get a good long look. He really did look a lot better. The blue and black turned yellow, and even that was fading. The affected area was a little puffy, and he had some pretty obvious marks where the stitches were removed, but a week had done him good…physically at least.

“You seem okay to me. I’ll come by to say goodbye tomorrow, and we’ll see you in a week and a half. We have to do a lot of follow-ups. Make sure you take it easy; nothing active, and nothing stupid, okay.” 

“Yeah yeah. See ya Doc. Hope everything goes okay with your brother.”

______________________

A restless night brought on a terrible morning.

The idea of being escorted to a fucking mental hospital, or a psych ward as some people were calling it (it was all the same to Dean) was about as exciting as shooting himself in the face. Well shooting himself in the face had been somewhat exciting in a very terrifying and horrific way, but going to this place didn’t have the same cachet.

He was released and taken into a car by two of the mental hospital’s employees. Sam offered to go with him, but Dean didn’t want his little brother to see him dragged away to the loony bin. He opted to go alone.

 No longer on any kind of painkiller, a pretty consistent but dull hum of pain pressed deep beyond Dean’s skull. It was making him a little carsick, which was weird because he’d never gotten carsick in his life.

They pulled up towards iron gates. Dean took a deep breath. He’d assumed it’d be bad, but he really hadn’t expected it to look so much like prison. IDs were shown and they moved in past a sign reading _Saint Luke’s Psychiatric Center_.

Having an ever-present escort was making Dean antsy.  He fought the urge to scream for the sake of disobedience. He hadn’t felt the need to rebel until actually getting out of the car.

The first fifteen minutes of being in the mental hospital was actually a lot like prison. Everything he owned, which he’d just gotten back, was taken from him. No more bracelet, ring, jeans, or plaid shirt. Hell even his shoes had to go.

All he got was a white V-neck, which he was confident had a little polyester mixed in with the cotton, really ugly draw-string navy pants, and the saddest excuse for shoes he’s ever seen, and Sam had bought crocs. He also got a lovely hospital bracelet with his name on it; that just dug the knife in a little deeper. 

“Okay Dean, my name’s Pamela, I’m a nurse here. Anything you need you let me know.”

Dean answered by crossing his arms over his chest and scowling. Though Dean wasn’t exactly cooperative, Pamela had of course seen some real shit in her day, so a little frown didn’t exactly put her over the edge.

“I’m going to show you to your room, then Dr. Henricksen is going to talk to you for a little while. Then maybe breakfast.”

The hallways were more hospital like than Dean thought they’d be. At least they were spacious enough to quell his rising claustrophobia.

“Annnd here’s your room.” Pamela swung the door open to reveal a small sparse room. There was a large radiator below a rectangular window, one narrow single bed with a thin navy blanket, and a really sad looking pillow. Off in the corner was a wooden desk and chair. Dean looked at the ceiling. The light bulb was deep within the wall and covered by bars.  Next to it was a black round half-sphere. A camera.

 “You’ve got a towel, a little baby toothpaste, and deodorant. When you want to brush your teeth you’ll be given a toothbrush.”

 “Okay.”

“Bathrooms are in the hall, and they are not gender neutral, so please stay in the men’s bathroom.”

Dean raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Who’d even want to go in the girls room?”

“I ask myself that everyday.”

 A small part of Dean took in Pamela’s deadpan humor and said, ‘Yeah, I could like her.’

 “Okay come on, time to see the doctor.” The walk to the office wasn’t terribly long at all. It seemed like most things were pretty compact around here. “So you’re in the West Ward, some of the lifers…they’re not actually lifers, have started calling it the Wayward, so if you hear anyone call it that, that’s what they’re talking about.”

“Uh okay…thanks, I guess?”

“Annd here you go. Dr. Henricksen, I’ve got your eight forty five here.”

“Come in!” Dean twisted his lips at the deep voice behind the door. He stepped into the room and quickly sized up the man behind the desk.

 “Sit down” Henricksen said, offering a tight smile before ducking into what Dean assumed was his file. Dean sat.

 “Dean Winchester, like the gu—area of London.” Dean caught the mistake. Henricksen wanted to say gun, but clearly he’d stumbled on why Dean was here in the first place and changed his tune. That kind of unprepared blunder made him question the entire establishment.

 “Yeah.” 

“I’m Dr. Henricksen. I’m one of the psychiatrists here. The psychiatrist down at the hospital said she thinks you need seventy two hours here, so here we are. 

“Looks like it.”

 “Your file says you shot yourself in the head.” Henricksen clasped his hands together and leaned back in his chair. “It’s been called an unsuccessful suicide attempt. Could you tell me about what happened?”

 Dean was getting extremely uncomfortable. This was probably the last thing he wanted to talk about, especially with a complete stranger.

 “I mean um, that’s pretty much it.” He tried to be as terse as possible. The elephant was coming back and it was pushing so hard it made Dean physically sink into his seat.

“Why did you want to kill yourself?”

 The soft clacking of a tongue was the only sound for ten long seconds. Dean pulled his lip into his mouth, bit it gently in agitation, then released it.

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t a real answer, but it was an escape, or so Dean thought.

“Do you not know, or are you just saying you don’t know because you don’t want to talk about it?”

Dean was quiet again, but this time he readjusted himself and cast his eyes downward.

 “Just saying it.”

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“Why the fuck do you want to talk about it!?” It was out there, violent and full of anger, before Dean could even think to keep it locked in.

Henricksen inhaled through his nostrils slowly. Outbursts weren’t an uncommon occurrence in his office.

“Are you embarrassed by it?” 

“I, I don’t know, yes, I guess.”

“Well I don’t find it embarrassing at all. Have you talked to anyone about it?” 

“…No, not really.”

 “Okay so let’s talk. Why did you want to kill yourself?”

 Dean was tired. Resisting was taking a lot of energy that he didn't have. So he tried cooperating, a little.

 “I just, I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“What couldn’t you do anymore?”

“Uh, just um, just everything I guess.” The tiny valve that had kept all his emotions cooped up inside loosened, and now everything was flooding and rushing out. Tears, little traitors, welled up before falling off eyelashes and spilling down cheeks. Dean pushed them away with his hand and covered his face as he turned into himself, ashamed. “It’s just not worth it. I I I—I can’t do anything right, I let everybody down. And it shouldn’t be, it shouldn’t be so hard. Everyone can go on with their lives and no one ever complains but, but I can’t. I’m not good enough, and I’m slowing them down, and and and I’m just garbage, a _waste_.”

 Henricksen was pushing a box of tissues at Dean who was trying desperately to get control of himself. 

“You are not garbage.”

 “I can’t do it anymore man, I just can’t.”

“Dean listen, it’s not gonna be like this anymore. You didn’t have help before, but now you do.”

“I shouldn’t need help.”

 “Everyone needs help, they just aren't telling you about it.” Henricksen pursed his lips before going in for another question. “Are you sad a lot Dean?”

“Yeah”

 “Do you drink at all?”

 “Yeah”

“How many drinks a week?”

 “I dunno, I gotta sleep sometime, maybe like three or four a day.”

“You have trouble sleeping?”

 “Uh, I sometimes get, maybe four hours in, but there are always nightmares.”

 “Okay Dean, I know you’ve never seen someone before, or gotten a diagnosis, but I think you might have depression. You’re sick right now but you can get better. You gotta work on it though if you wanna change. Do you wanna change?”

“How am I supposed to change?”

 “Well that’s why you’re here. Question is do you want to change?”

 Dean thought about it, genuinely thought about it. He was uncomfortable, and more than embarrassed.  In no world was he happy, but the idea of change was daunting even if it was supposedly for the better. Despite the streak of fear, Dean knew he wasn’t going to survive another week if he carried on this way, so he nodded through the pain. 

“Yes.”

“Good. We’re gonna get you started on anti-depressants. I’m hoping these will make a big difference, and we’ll monitor you to see how you’re doing.”

 “You’re gonna dope me up on happy pills? How is that really changing me?”

“Medication works for a lot of people Dean. A lot of people can’t even function without it. The pills aren’t going to magically fix everything, but they’ll help you by trying to get you back to normal. Try ‘em out, okay.”

“Fine.”

Dean left the office feeling raw. Pamela was there to talk him down and get him to breakfast. Socializing wasn’t his current cup of tea, and he dreaded the impending interaction.

The main dining hall connected Wayward and East Ward. It was big, but not that big, and full of square nailed down tables. Men and women, all in identical outfits, sat around eating with plastic utensils. The scent of fake maple syrup was overpowering.

“Hello Dean”

Dean jumped slightly because he was not expecting to hear his name said so confidently, especially not from a voice that sounded like it was gargling sandpaper. He spun around quickly to figure out who the hell he knew in this place, but was shocked to find that he had no idea who the guy behind him was.

 The guy was maybe a little shorter than him, and a bit slighter too. He had black hair, blue hooded eyes, and a strangely familiar structure to his face, but Dean was confident he’d never seen him before in his life.

“How’d you know my name?” Dean asked guardedly. That shit had freaked him out.

 “It’s on your bracelet.” He said tapping his own.

“Oh” Well that was slightly less creepy, but not by much.

 “My name is Castiel. It's so good to meet you Dean.” Today was full of surprises because before he knew it he was wrapped in an extremely tight embrace.

“Oh, um, okay.”

Castiel let him go and quickly transitioned back into his mile a minute word vomit.

 “We should sit together. Sitting with people is altogether more pleasant than sitting in solitude. I have spent a lot of time alone and it often proves far less beneficial than spending time with others. Proper socialization can be extremely important.”

“Um, wow, you can talk huh.” This Cas guy was stressing Dean out—they were practically on opposite ends of the spectrum. The dude just would not shut up. Dean would have declined but he was honestly a little afraid of what Cas would do if he said no.

They got French toast and sat at a table by one of the small windows. Dean peeled the plastic off his syrup container and poured it over his breakfast.

“Cas, what are you doing?” The guy was poking little holes in the syrup and smelling the contents…thoroughly.

“Well you see Dean, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Oh Jesus, he was in for it. “Trees are such noble creatures. They’re so proud and tall, offering their bodies as homes for insects and animals alike. I don’t know if it’s right for us to take their sap. They spend all their time making this food for themselves and then we take it away. It’s not right for us to take advantage of such generous plants. I mean how important is maple syrup to you Dean?”

“I don’t know, not very?”

 Dean was at a loss. He was not equipped to deal with Castiel. Cas continued talking, but Dean phased out of his ability to hear. Instead he took the time to really take in this chatty…Cast-y. Nothing about him was particularly striking. Dean supposed Cas was a good-looking man; he was the kind of guy whose looks would do well on a crime show, or a _Constantine_ reboot, but not necessarily a soap opera. His hair was a complete mess though, jutting out at crazy angles and reaching profound heights. The dude also had crazy eyes, like really crazy. Dean marveled at how open they were despite their natural propensity to slope downwards. Those eyes hadn’t seen sleep in days, that was for sure.

Tilting his head to take his examination one step further, Dean noticed two white bandages on Cas’s wrists. Interesting. That meant he’d probably tried to kill himself, just like Dean had. But Dean had trouble understanding how Cas, who couldn’t shut up for a fucking second, and was preoccupied with tree activism, could take a knife and slash at himself. Sure, he seemed nuts, like completely off his rocker, but he didn’t seem well…sad.

“Did you know a cat’s penis is sharply barbed along the shaft? I know for a fact the females were not consulted about that.”

“Room for two more?”

“Yes!” Dean practically yelled it. He needed a break from Cas and maybe the guy could focus some of his energy onto these other people.

Two women, a redhead and a blonde, sat bedside him. Immediately Dean knew they were much younger than him, particularly the blonde—she could have been in high school for all he knew. 

“I’m Charlie.”

“Jo”

“Hello Charlie, Jo, my name is Castiel, this is Dean, it’s good to make your acquaintance.”

“Uh yeah, you too.” Charlie said as she flashed a smile. Jo, however, seemed taken aback by Cas’s manic demeanor. She focused her attention towards Dean.

“So, new?”

“Yeah, just got in this morning.”

“I’ve been here for about a week and a half. Charlie’s my roommate.”

 “Roommate?”

 “Yeah most of the voluntary patients live in pairs. It’s not exactly ideal, but Charlie’s good company.”

“What do you mean you’ve never seen _Star Wars_!?” Charlie’s shout cut through their conversation. “It’s only like, a classic!”

“Wait, who hasn’t seen _Star Wars_?” Dean asked, then wished he hadn’t.

 “Castiel! That’s nuts, do you even know who Darth Vader is?”

“Yes, wait perhaps not. Based on his name however, I understand he’s the villain. Darth sounds similar to dark, which of course is always used to symbolize evil in film, even though there is nothing innately evil about a lack of light.”

It was then Dean decided to duck out of the conversation. He shoved the French toast into his mouth without tasting it. As he forked the last piece he noticed Cas hadn’t taken a single bite of his breakfast. That was weird, but then again, Cas was weird.

“Okay guys, start putting away your trays.  West Ward get ready for group in ten minutes.”

 Charlie cut off the conversation about _Star Wars_ by standing up to put her food away.

“Well, guess that’s our cue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering why Cas is so out of character, it's because he's having a pretty big manic episode. I'm trying to base it off of crazy Cas. Once he and Dean reconnect outside the hospital he'll be a lot more like the Cas we know and love.


	4. Chapter 4

Group therapy seemed a little misguided. Dean felt that it was hard enough talking to family about his emotions; he’d been raised to strictly avoid any semblance of a chick-flick moment. He barely got through talking to Henricksen one on one, so airing his dirty laundry to a bunch of weird strangers seemed like the biggest waste of time ever.  No way was he going to talk. 

The organizational scheme of group (no one in the hospital seemed to place therapy behind the word) resembled elementary school. Everyone sat in a circle on those weird plastic blue chairs only middle schools had. By the grace of God Dean managed to sit away from Castiel.  Dean had his own issues and he was not about to invite Cas’ voices into his head. He was fucked up enough. Charlie and Jo seemed relatively normal, or at least calm, so he stayed close to them and ended up next to Charlie with some guy on his side.

“Alright everyone welcome. I’m Dr. Mosley. I’m a psychologist here. Most of ya’ll know me already, but we have some new faces with us. Everyone can just call me Missouri. So what we’re going to do is go around, say our names, and one thing we like about ourselves.” If possible Dean felt even more against group than he had before. He had a vision of throwing himself out of his chair and screaming: ‘What is this, summer camp!?’ before storming off, but he hadn’t shown that kind of bravery in a long time. He sat quietly in his chair.

“Okay I’ll go first. I’m Missouri and I like that I can usually predict the future.” She smiled warmly and tossed the question over to her right.

 “I’m Bella. I suppose I like my confidence.” Dean had to pull a face at that one. Bela was hot, like really hot, but really, she seemed like a total bitch. Confidence was a good thing to have, but Bella didn’t seem confident, she seemed arrogant. Those were two completely different things. Moreover she sounded like she was playing a game, and maybe she was. Nothing about her seemed particularly off though, which meant she was either relatively normal or completely off her rocker.

“Um, I’m Ava, I like, well I lost a bunch of weight so I guess I like my new body.” Ava was a mousy little thing, but even though Dean was inclined to judge, he didn’t. It was pretty difficult to imagine her heavy, she was a stick.

“Hey! I’m Garth and I like my charming personality. Oh what’s that Mr. Fizzles?” A lot of things had tested Dean’s belief throughout his life, but he’d never felt as seriously freaked out as when Garth whipped out a sock puppet. It had yarn hair and lopsided button eyes. Everything in Dean’s body and mind screamed ‘NOOOOOOOOO’.  Not everyone shared Dean’s horrified reaction. Fucking Cas was fucking dying. The guy had a huge smile plastered on his face and was hysterically laughing. Dean watched in amazement as Garth…or Mr. Fizzles, addressed the room.

“Mr. Fizzles wants to be everyone’s friend. He wants to lisssssttteeeeen.” Never before had Dean had a fear of sock puppets, but the weird high pitched lispy voice, and the way the little mouth opened and closed, was truly unforgettable in the worst way possible. He’d been in this place for like two hours and he’d developed a new fear. So much for getting help. 

“Garth, this time is for you. Why don’t you put down Mr. Fizzles?”

“But Mr. Fizzles wants to help Garth.” 

Missouri seemed to move on from that pretty quickly, it looked like an issue that had been pressed before. Meanwhile, Dean was screaming internally.

 “Hello everyone, my name is Castiel. I love my deep sense of spirituality. The other day, in the garden, I followed the path of a honeybee. I saw the route of flowers. The plan is all there, there’s nothing to add.  Our souls are the honey and the bees that go to flower to flower create us—“

 “That’s wonderful Castiel, but I really just want to know what you like about yourself. Okay, Andy do you want to start?”

 “Oh, sure. My name’s Andy, uh, I guess I’m good at art. I got a cool barbarian queen on the side of my van.”

 The next guy didn't even need to be prompted, he was riding the tail end of Andy's introduction. 

“Hello, I’m Alastair.” That weird little sixth sense humans have the no one talked about, the one that gave people the heebie jeebies and told them trouble was a foot, it was tingling up Dean’s forearms and erecting the light smattering of hair there.

 “I’ve got a few good qualities but my favorite has to be my ability to win people over. Getting people to switch over to your side is an art form, one I’ve mastered.” Dean wasn’t feeling particularly won over. If anything Alastair was making him feel acutely freaked out. The puppet had been bad, like really truly terrible, but this guy, whose fucking smile was less charming than a shark’s, was possibly more upsetting than anything he’d yet to encounter in this godforsaken place.

 It was Dean’s turn, but he didn’t really want to participate. He knew it’d be worse on him if he stayed quiet, but after the puppet, Cas’s _A Bug’s Life_ spiel, and Alastair’s troubling aura, he felt as though his life force had been sucked straight out of him. He started simple.

“My name’s Dean.” He kept his eyes off the group and crossed his arms over his chest protectively.

“And what’s one thing you like about yourself?”

The insides of his cheeks pinched forming dimples on the top of his mouth. As far as Dean was concerned, he wasn’t a great person. He didn’t have a whole lot of good so nothing was jumping out at him. Even the things he could potentially say, he knew he shouldn’t actually advertise, because those were things he was deluding himself into believing he was good at. He was nothing and he knew it.

“I dunno…” He mumbled under his breath—it was an easy cop out. Missouri wasn’t having it.  She pressed him, not with words but a pointed look that both kindly and sternly told him to continue. Pushing back would be too much effort. 

“My taste in music.”

Charlie and Joe completed the circle but Dean wasn’t really listening to their blurbs.  He was preoccupied with keeping his head down, checking out, and Alastair staring at him out of the corner of his eye. Talk about creepy. Dean didn’t know what was more annoying, the staring, or that Alastair thought he was being sneaky. Dean could see him, he wasn’t blind. 

“Okay everyone, today we’re going to talk about crisis management. There might be moments when things are extremely out of control and you’re thinking the worst, but there are a few techniques to help you get through it.”

_______________________

The thin semblance of order crumbled into unfathomable discord. Dean stared at his hands in silence as screaming bounced around his head and bombarded his small universe. It had been anarchy for fifty minutes.  A fight had broken out over a water pitcher, Cas wouldn’t stop interrupting people, Mr. Fizzles made Ava cry, Jo and Bella nearly got into a physical altercation over a comment about hair, and Alastair was all kinds of threatening. Dean wasn’t a therapist, that much was obvious, but he knew that group therapy was a dumb fucking idea.  Putting a bunch of freaks in a room did not make them better, it made them worse.

“Okay, okay we’re at the last few minutes.” Missouri’s voice was strained from talking over people. True to his word, Dean hadn’t said a single thing after his unwilling introduction. 

“Some of you have been very vocal, but maybe we could let some people who haven’t talked have a turn.”

Oh God, no. Forced participation was one of the worst things in the world. If Dean had something to say he would have said it.

 “Dean’s been quiet.” It was Alastair. Dean grit his teeth and tried not to punch is thigh in frustration. Fuck Alastair, throwing him under the bus like that! He knew that guy was bad news.

“Dean, you want to contribute anything?”

 “…No” Well he didn’t.

“Come on Dean, tell us something about you?” Oh fuck this asshole and his stupid dumb old timey name. Dean narrowed his eyes at Alastair and let out a bite of venom.

“What, are you leading group now?” It hadn’t been kind, but that was the intention. Missouri looked ready to intervene but Alastair was persistent.

“Therapy only helps when you participate. Besides, we all want to know more about you.” That slippery shark-tooth smile was back and slithering all over Dean’s skin.

“Why do you want to know about him so much?” Jo spat, apparently coming to his defense. Alastair held up two placating hands. 

“I’m just interested. I just want to know what’s up with those nasty looking marks on his face.” Time was a marvelous healer, but two weeks wasn’t going to magically erase a bullet to the face. He’d only gotten his stitches out yesterday for fucks sake. Dean was aware of his situation so to speak, he knew there was still some swelling, and yeah there was a little bruising, okay a lot of yellow bruising, but it took a real fucking dick to ask about it in a public setting.

“You’re just gonna have to keep guessing.” The defensive edge in Dean’s voice was a red flag marking this conversation as a bad move. 

“Oh come on Dean-o”

“Alastair, Dean is clearly uncomfortable with this topic, we need to move on.” Finally some mediating! Dean scowled into the floor as his thoughts whirled around in a flurry. Two more days of this shit. Two more days.

 

_________________________

 

Pamela was waiting outside the door for him and talking to another dark haired nurse. Apparently he was not trusted enough to be by himself—a gun to the head will make people think that though. Suicide-watch blowed.  After his traumatic group therapy experience all Dean wanted to do was regress into his anti-social habits and hide away in his room. That wasn’t going to happen though because Pamela would always be there. It was just too awkward to hide under his covers in the dark with an attractive woman watching his every move. 

“How was group?” Poor Pamela was trying to be nice, but Dean really couldn’t handle pleasantries.

“Sucked.”

“Well that…sucks. You know there’s crafts going on, maybe you wanna color out your stress.” He knew she was being nice, but the fact that she had seriously suggested he use coloring to channel his negative experience was too much for him.

“What grown man wants to fucking color?” The clipped tone he was sporting was uncalled for. Pamela hadn’t done anything wrong. She made a face at him, but she didn’t bite back. The other nurse did.

 “And the guy in a mental hospital is the authority on what normal grown men do? Interesting.”

“Meg” Pamela warned with a terse hitch to her breath. Meg raised her eyebrows and it was the most passive aggressive thing Dean had ever seen.

 “Meg!” Cas emerged from the room full of fucking smiles.

“Well hello to you too Clarence. What’s our next move, crafts?”

“Well the thing about—“

 “There’s music too.”

 “Yes crafts let’s go!”

 Meg was Cas’ one to one nurse, his Pamela. Dean admitted Cas was intriguing, but only because they’d ended up here for the same reason despite being so utterly different. Everything about Cas suggested he needed to be hospitalized, but he seemed so happy and jazzed about life that Dean couldn’t understand how he’d gotten to a place where death seemed like the best option.

“You should join us Dean. Crafts can be such a relaxing and therapeutic activity, and sometimes they play music you can really dance to. It’s quite the enjoyable experience I must say! Yesterday I colored in a My Little Pony, I made her blue and she had markings on her that indicated her fortitude and strength of character.”

“Listen buddy, it’s great that you’re so into crafts, really I’m happy you have this in your life, but I am not coloring in little ponies.” He turned to Pamela. “I want to go to my room.”

“But Dean-“

“Come on Clarence, he doesn’t want to play with you.”

Dean spent the next three hours in bed. Pamela tried to ignite conversation, but the longer Dean laid there the harder it was to fight his impending sense of dread from engulfing him completely. 

“Dean?” His name was starting to sound like nails on a chalkboard. Every time someone called him, or asked him something, he had to face a world he wanted no part of. It was all too tiring.

“It’s lunch time. We should go to the dining hall.”

“I’m not hungry.” He muttered, voice partially muffled by the pillow he was currently face first in. His head hurt and he didn’t want to have to socialize.

 “Come on, it’s a good day.”

“Are you going to keep bothering me if I don’t go?”

“Yes”

“Fine.” Dean rolled out of bed slowly. He was cold now that his blanket was crumpled on the bed and not wrapped tightly around his body. There was a dark blue robe folded on the edge of his bed. At least they provided long sleeves to combat the arctic temperatures. The robe was a decent fit, even if it was somewhat shapeless, but it didn’t have a belt.

“Where’s the thing the ties it?” He asked assuming he’d been jiped.

“It’s a hazard so we don’t have them. Learned that the hard way.” 

It took Dean a second but eventually the meaning in Pamela’s words came through. People were hanging themselves with robe belts.  It wasn’t encouraging news.

Lunch wasn’t a great experience. The hall was too bright and too loud, and even though Charlie and Jo were cool, Dean wasn’t in the mood to engage. 

“So what’d you do after group?” Charlie asked as they settled down to eat.

 “Nothing. I went back to my room.”

 “The first group session can be pretty tough.”

“That Alastair guy was a real asshole too.” Jo interjected gruffly. “I don’t know what his problem is.”

“Yeah he’s such a creeper. He makes Hannibal Lector seem charming.”

“Yeah I’m not a fan of his.” And Dean wasn’t. Alastair’s little interrogation had brought on a crippling wave of self-doubt that had driven Dean to solitude.

 Jo set down her chicken finger so she could cross her arms with a huff.

“I don’t trust him. And he was like staring at you, did you notice that?” 

“How could I not?”

“Maybe he has a crush on you.” Charlie added as she dipped her chicken finger down for some kind of misguided flirtatious emphasis. She was kidding, but Dean didn’t even want to entertain that idea. For some reason he immediately got an image of him and Alastair making out. It was immeasurably upsetting.

“I can’t even let that idea exist for too long. Just believing in it might make it real.”

“Like a tulpa!” Charlie chimed. Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow because he was pretty sure Charlie just made up a word.

“Tibetan monks would meditate on a symbol and then whatever they were focusing on would come true. It could be an animal, or an object, or even a monster.” 

“Charlie knows all things nerd, including obscure mythology.”

“Hey you’d be surprised what impresses the ladies.”

“The ladies?” Dean blurted it out without realizing it could have been rude. There was nothing wrong with being gay in his book, his understanding and fondness of Charlie wasn’t compromised suddenly, he just hadn’t expected her to swing that way.  

“Um yeah, I’m a ladies lady.”

 There was a slight tension at their little table now. Clearly Charlie and Jo didn’t know how he was going to react. It made him a little sad. If this was her guarded reaction, well she must have dealt with some real assholes in her life.

 “No yeah, that’s, that’s cool Charlie. I wish I had half your charm for picking up chicks.”

 A collective metaphorical sigh of relief passed between the trio. 

 “Something tells me you can be pretty charming when you want to be.” Jo drawled as she leaned onto her elbows.

“Once upon a time maybe.”

 Pamela moved in and rested her hand on the back of Dean’s chair.

 “Lunch is almost over, start putting your trash away guys.”

 On the walk back to his room Dean was stopped by a male nurse.

“Your medication.” He held out a small blue cup with two white pills in it.

 “What is it?”

“It’s Lexapro, an antidepressant.”

Dean wasn’t thrilled to get hopped on drugs, but he’d been tossing back liquor for as long as he could remember and there wasn’t much of a difference he supposed.

“Bottom’s up” He shot the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the water from a second blue cup. The male nurse left without so much as a goodbye.

 “You’ll be given your medicine by a nurse here everyday. It might not work right away but it kicks in eventually, and hopefully it helps you out.” Pamela said as they rounded the corner.

“You’ve seen a lot of people get better with medication?”

“Oh yeah, I was one of them.” She smiled and Dean opened the door to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

There wasn’t a clock in his room.  The world beyond his window was black and the air around his bed was icy. Slowly Dean turned in on himself.  Pamela had gone home hours ago, right after dinner, way before curfew. He was alone finally, but night wasn’t kind to Dean Winchester.  Sleep had been unobtainable for weeks now. To compensate his mind raced around and unleashed waves of nauseating thoughts—little kamikaze pilots that exploded in his brain to uphold the mission of killing their host. Dean only felt this bad when the clock reached an hour too paradoxically late to be early; it had to be past three o’ clock.

Technically Dean was supposed to stay in his room, but he was bored and sick of looking around at the shapes in the dark.  He doubted someone would get mad at him if he said he was going to the bathroom.

He trudged out of his room in the cheap slippers they gave him. The fluorescents in the hall assaulted him so Dean countered their attack by placing his hand against his eyebrows like a fleshy visor. 

None of their doors locked.  If he wanted to he could go into anyone’s room—he wouldn’t, but he could if he really wanted to. Dean was a big enough dude, if someone decided to surprise him in the night he’d probably be able to fend them off, but he worried about Jo and Charlie.  They were among nutcases, and nutcases did shit like sneak into young women’s rooms.

Dean’s walk was aimless, but it felt good to be out in the hall. Usually this place was littered with nurses and patients alike, but now it was empty, and that made it eerie.  He wasn’t stupid, he knew he shouldn’t try and go to the rec room unless he wanted his ass hauled back to his bed, so he wandered slowly towards the bathroom.

 “Hey, what are you doing out of bed?” The voice belonged to the night watchman, who was really just a night shift orderly. The man crossed his arms and Dean could see him tensing up for a fight.

“Just going to the bathroom.”

“Don’t get stupid, I’m watching you.”

“I’ll try and pee intelligently.”

Dean slipped into the men’s room without taking in his surroundings. He didn’t know who was more surprised to have company, him or Castiel. They both jumped, clutching their hearts in unison.

 “Dude! You scared the crap outta me.”

“My apologies. I didn’t expect anyone.” Cas’s hair was a mess, like he’d purposefully rubbed it up against a wall. He looked wide-awake but not as alert as he had been all day.

“Why’re you here?” Dean asked now that the awkwardness of their social interaction set in.

 “I don’t sleep.” It was a simple terse response, one previously uncharacteristic of the man.

 “Me either.” Dean pursed his lips as he waited for he didn’t know what.

“Are you on sleeping pills?” Cas asked as he turned to stare at himself in the distorted non-glass mirror.

“Um…no. Are you?”

“Sometimes. You should be on sleeping pills. Irregular sleep greatly exacerbates mental problems. It exacerbates all problems.”

“How come you’re awake if you’re on sleeping pills?”

 “I was doing very well, so my prescription ran out and it wasn’t renewed. I think I’m coming down now, but I’m still not sleeping yet.” Cas _did_ seem like he was coming off of some crazy high. He was an altogether different person than he was this morning. It was sort of fascinating to behold.

 “What’s wrong with you Cas?” Dean asked quietly. There was something about three AM talks that made filters seem pointless.

 “I have bipolar one.” 

Dean furrowed his brows. He’d heard of bipolar before, he’d even called Sam bipolar a few times when he was being bitchy, but he didn’t actually understand it at all.

“So like you get crazy mood swings?”

“…Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking is wrong?”

“Because people never actually understand bipolar disorder.”

 “Oh…”

“It’s fluctuations between extreme highs and lows. I get stuck in periods of mania, where everything is intoxicatingly wonderful,  I know how to talk to people, and the world suddenly makes sense in a way that other people just can’t understand.”

 “Sounds pretty nice.” 

“It is. But it doesn’t last. You fall off eventually and the black part of your brain, the nasty part that hates you with every fiber of its complex existence, takes over.”

“Were you manic…this morning?”

 “Yes. I’ve been in a mixed state for a little over a week.” 

“What’s a mixed state?”

“You’re very curious.”

“I, yeah, sure. Guess I am.”

“You don’t think I’m some sort of lunatic freak?” Sharp blue eyes snatched Dean up.

“I, well I, a little. But, I’m a lunatic freak too.  Talking to you is making me feel less…afraid.”

 The left corner of Cas’ lip quirked up.

 “A mixed state is when you’re in the high manic period, but the low part, the depression, is occurring simultaneously.”

“How does that work?”

 “It doesn’t. It’s one of the worst feelings.”

“Is that why you…you know?” Dean asked gesturing to his own wrists.

 Cas immediately hid his arms behind his back.

 “Sorry man, I didn’t mean to…I um, I did the same thing.” Dean lowered his head and focused on the dingy tile floor.

“Your head?” Cas asked as he peered over at Dean from underneath his brows.

“That noticeable?” 

“Not really.”

“You know Cas, you’re alright like this.”

“Well I feel terrible.”

 “So do I.”

“I guess we have that in common.” Cas turned his head and smiled at Dean who returned the gesture. It felt good to have an ally in this place, even if they were a fucked up person who sometimes couldn’t shut up. Dean had always been better one on one. 

“What’re you guys doing?” They both jumped as the watchman swung the door open.

 “We're just talking.” Dean responded automatically.

“Come on, back to bed, both of you.” The watchman escorted each of them back to their rooms.  Dean hunkered down in his cold dark room for another few restless hours of unwilling consciousness. It was weird finding solidarity in pain, but Dean didn’t question it.

___________________________

 

“Wake up Dean.” 

“I’m awake.”

Pamela switched on the light as Dean pulled off his blanket. Exhaustion was pooling deep in his bones, but he wasn’t going to sleep so he got up.

“Do you want a shower?” 

“No” He was only going be here for two more days, showering in this place didn’t seem worth it.

 “Okay get dressed then come outside for breakfast.”

“You’re not gonna be looking over my shoulder anymore?”

“I’ll keep checking on you every half hour or so, but you’ve gone up a level, congrats kid. And hurry up, we sometimes run out of bacon.”

Dean got dressed in a clean version of yesterday’s outfit. He kept the robe from last night though; he needed to wear it if he wanted to survive these wintry temperatures.

The hallway was full of patients, nurses, and orderlies alike. It was a far cry from the hollow stillness of last night. 

Dean got his bacon. It didn’t look half as good as the bacon he cooked up, but it at least looked like pig and not the gross turkey bacon Sam had tried to make him eat. His usual group was nowhere to be found, but Dean nearly made eye contact with Garth—that had been all kinds of terrifying. There was no room for sock puppets in Dean’s life, so he ducked his head and sat by himself.

“Mind if I join you?” Cas had an unmistakable voice. It was deep and gravely, a little robotic here and there, but Dean didn’t mind it.

“Yeah sit on down.” Last night had Dean feeling a lot better about Cas. The man’s hair was only slightly tamer than his three o’clock bedhead, but he seemed slightly more lethargic, which was sort of a good thing for Dean, but maybe a bad thing for Cas. Dean remembered what Cas had said about the low points, he didn’t want that for the guy, even if his mania was hard for him to handle.

“How ya doing Cas?”

 “I’m alright thank you.” Cas poked at his lumpy scrambled eggs and placed a chunk into his mouth, closing his lips on the fork before pulling it out slowly with a pensive expression.

“Powdered.”

 “Dude, you are such a strange eater.”

 “I am?” Cas seemed genuinely surprised by that, but Dean was surprised that Cas was surprised.

 “Yeah. Yesterday you like sniffed your syrup but didn’t eat anything and now you’re like breaking down ingredients by taste.”

“Oh. Well yesterday I found myself unable to eat without feeling nauseous. And now that I _am_ eating I’m starting to regret it. As soon as I leave I’m going to consume copious amounts of cheeseburgers.”

“I didn’t peg you for a cheeseburger kind of guy, gotta be honest with you. You look like a total health nut.”

“If I didn’t typically start my day off with a five mile run I assure you I’d be severely overweight.” 

“Five fucking miles?” Dean was in a state of shock. The only time he wanted to move five miles was when he was behind the wheel of his car.

“Why the hell do you do that?”

“For a number of reasons.” Dean had been making a rhetorical exclamation but Cas was going to answer him literally anyway.

 “One of my medications promotes weight gain, and I’d rather not gain weight. I also find that exercising regularly keeps me healthier. Now it’s a part of my routine, and I really enjoy having order and plans in my life. It makes me feel in control.”

“I couldn’t even run one mile.”

“You could.”

“No, Cas, I can’t even touch my toes.”

“Flexibility has little to do with endurance.”

 “Okay well I got none of that.”

“I suspect you have more endurance than you’re willing to admit.”

“And how would you know?” 

“I know everything.”

Dean smiled as he realized Cas was joking around with him. It was easier talking to someone who he knew was as fucked up as himself. Charlie and Jo were nice, but for some reason he had trouble relating to them. Maybe it was because they were cute girls or something, he didn’t know. Cas was more like him, and now that he was milder in manner, he was good company.

“Hey how old are you Cas?”

“I’m thirty-four.”

“Shit really? You seem younger.”

“I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or insulting me.”

“Oh um, you just don’t look old is all I’m saying.”

 “You think thirty-four is old? You must be in your twenties.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

 “No wonder. You’ll be in your thirties soon enough.”

For some reason Dean hadn’t expected Cas to be in his mid thirties. Thirty-four was kind of an established age—Dean tended to think people had their shit figured out by then, but apparently not. Cas could be married for all he knew! A quick finger check indicated otherwise, but they’d taken Dean’s jewelry away so maybe it was one of those situations.

 “Are you married?” He just sort of said it.

“No, I’m single. You’re also very nosey today.”

 “What else am I gonna do in this place besides interrogate you?”

“Well you could do crafts but I—“ A rogue chair crashed into the wall by Cas’s head and echoed with a loud bang. Cas and Dean stared at each other in shock for a good five seconds. It was like a switch had been turned on and suddenly there was chaos. The patients started panicking and every staff member present went into crisis mode.

“You motherfuckers think you can keep me here!?” Dean zeroed in on the center of the drama. A man three tables away from them was going fucking ape shit. He was a muscular man with dark skin and an intimidatingly fit physique. He was also throwing trays of food at nurses and orderlies.

“Fuck you people!” Staff swarmed around him in an effort to restrain him. “Get away from me motherfucker! I'll gut your asses!” Limbs flew around wildly as shouts and yells built up for the inevitable explosion.

“Gordon you need to calm down!” It was the punch heard round the mental hospital. Gordon’s fist connected with an orderly’s jaw. As if it wasn’t crazy enough in the dining hall, a woman, who was a little too close for comfort, riffed off of Gordon’s behavior, dropped her pants and screamed “Pudding!” as she defecated on the floor. 

“Everyone back to your rooms! Come on back to your rooms!” Dean did not need to be told twice. He was off that chair in lightening speed and speed walking outta there. Cas was right by his side, stone faced and disgruntled.

Dean looked back to see Gordon get stuck with a syringe before collapsing into an orderly’s arms.

___________________________

They were allowed back out for lunch.

 “That shit at breakfast was fucking insane.” Charlie said under her breath as she and Dean waited on line to receive their food.

“You’re telling me. The chair hit the wall like two feet away from me.”

“Gordon’s a nutcase. That’s probably bad to say but he’s really something. He’s been here a while I heard.”

 “Does he live on our hall?”

“No he isn’t a Wayward son, he’s on the east side.”

“Thank God.” Seriously Dean did not want to fear for his fucking life at two am.

“Did you see that lady that pooped?”

“Yes I saw the lady that pooped Charlie, she was at the table next to me. I don’t even understand how that happened. Like shouldn’t steps be taken to stop that shit?”

“Her being here _is_ the step. You’re lucky she didn’t throw it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

 Today’s lunch was pretty terrible. The main entrée was some sad sort of white fish, with overcooked rice and watery vegetables.

“So where’s Jo?” Dean asked once he realized this was the first time he’d seen the two apart.

“Her mom’s visiting.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” As much as Dean loved Sammy, and even Bobby, he did not want them to see him in here. But maybe if he was stuck here for a long time he’d reconsider that. Dean’s situation wasn’t like Jo’s or Charlie’s: he was only here for three days, they didn’t have a set exit date.

“You know,” Charlie started as she rolled her food around her plate. “you should come to the rec room after this.”

“I don’t know Charlie-“ 

“No it’s not so bad. You always go back to your room, but sometimes company is good. Besides, with Jo gone I need you around to keep me from having to talk with the Gordons of this place.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

The rec room wasn’t terribly impressive. There were a few brightly colored couches, some tables with chairs, a big TV, a radio, and some benign miscellaneous shit scattered about. 

The worst thing about the rec room though, they were watching _The Real Housewives_.  Two episodes in, and Dean would never admit this aloud, but he was kind of into it. Charlie was pretty upset though. Reality TV was one of Charlie’s most hated vices, and she wouldn’t shut up about it.

“I mean come on. This woman can’t even cry she has so much botox!” Charlie huffed and sunk further into the couch as a female patient shushed her.

“Medications.”

Charlie was given her blue cup of pills and so was Dean.

“Hey, I wanna get on sleeping pills.” Dean said to the nurse. Cas had seemed pretty into those things, and honestly staying up all night wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded. 

“You have to talk to the doctor about that.”

“Well when can I?” 

“I’ll check in with one of them and then I’ll let you know.”

That wasn’t the answer Dean was really hoping for but it was all he was getting. 

“Charlie you’ve got therapy, let’s go.”

“Bye Dean, see ya later.” 

Now that Charlie was gone Dean had no reason to stay, but there was a marathon and Dean didn’t really want to get up. TV, when used properly, could be dissociative, and Dean liked it. He zoned out, lost in the world of forty-year-old women in body-con dresses and unsubtle lip injections. He didn’t notice who saddled up next to him until it was too late.

“I saw you hanging out with that Castiel guy earlier.” 

Dean turned to his side sharply and nearly cursed aloud.

“Gordon?” Why this nut-job was talking to him was beyond him. Dean didn’t want to engage, but ignoring the guy might be taken for hostility and he didn’t want a chair thrown at him.

 “You know he’s one of _them_ right?”

 No Dean didn’t, in fact he had no fucking idea what Gordon was talking about.

 “Listen man, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

 “He’s a bloodsucker, a vampire.”

“Like symbolically or like…for real?” Dean was trying to figure Gordon out. He had no idea what this interaction had in store, or why Gordon had initiated it at all.

“They got this whole operation going. This place isn’t a hospital, no one here is sick. The vampires drug you up and make everyone think you’re crazy so they can keep us here and feed on us. Your friend Castiel, he’s one of them. He’s undercover—gets close to you so you let your guard down. They think they can get me but I ain’t going down without a fight.”

 This was a bad fucking situation. Gordon was seriously delusional, and also scary.  He’d proven he could be violent earlier, and Dean didn’t want to incur his wrath just because the guy got it in his head that he was down with _Twilight_.

 “I need friends in this place. Together we could take these fuckers down, escape.”

“Gordon, buddy, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. There aren’t vampires—“ 

“Yes there are. I know this shit, I’ve seen it. You look like the kind of guy that could face off against their kind. You’re not weak like the others.”

 “Do I look like friggen Buffy to you?” Dean was done with this. “There aren’t vampires. I got like a day left and then I’m out. I’m not trying some crazy prison break scheme.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes at him and released his upper lip from the bottom one with a click.

 “They got to you. You know what, if you’re not my friend you’re my enemy. You better watch yourself.”

Gordon picked himself off the couch and walked towards the exit. He turned back to give Dean one promising look, then walked through the open door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I know Dean and Charlie referring to patients as nutcases or whatever is offensive. I personally don't see the mentally ill that way and I'm sorry if that struck a chord with anyone. I just felt Dean would think that way. 
> 
> Anyway, there aren't many comments on this thing, but if anyone wants me to elaborate on the mental situation of the characters in this because they're curious just let me know, I'm happy to chat. I also love getting feedback, FYI. : )


	6. Chapter 6

“So Dean, I’m told you want to go on sleeping pills.” Henricksen clicked his tongue slightly as he shuffled through Dean’s file.

“Yes. I can’t sleep. I need something that’ll knock me out.” Dean wasn’t lying, he never slept anymore, and it was truly terrible. He wasn’t quite a zombie yet; he’d snuck in a few hours at the hospital and that had been enough to keep him alive, but even that wasn’t a true sleep.

“How many times a week do you have trouble sleeping?”

 “Every night.”

“How many hours do you usually get?”

“Sometimes none, but maybe anywhere from one to four. Never any more.”

“That must be difficult.” Henricksen said as he jotted something down. 

“Yeah, that’s why I want pills.”

“Okay.” Henricksen clasped his hands and pulled away enough from the file to look Dean in the eye. “With your history, do you see why I’d have some reservations about prescribing you sleep aids?”

 Dean pinched his lips together. Sure, he got why Henricksen didn’t trust him with sleeping pills, but he didn’t see how they were any different than those little happy pills nurses were feeding him.

 “How’s that different from my other stuff? I could kill myself with the anti-depressants too. I could kill myself with Robitussin, and I could get that at CVS no questions asked.” It was blunt but that was Dean’s style.

“What are you some kind of lawyer?” The smile on Henricksen’s face was friendly and joking; it made Dean feel significantly more at ease. Initially he’d felt pretty anxious about going in and demanding medication—Henricksen seemed like had  a lot of authority attached to him, but deep down the guy was nice, even if his voice had a permanently gruff jackass-y tone to it. 

“No I’m a mechanic.”

 “Cars?”

 “Yeah, mostly old ones. I like restorations.” 

“Well now I know who to call when my car clunks out. Okay Dean, before I give you pills I want us to have a talk.” 

Dean adjusted himself into a defensive position. Talks were never good in his experience. Sharing feelings and swapping emotions wasn’t something Dean did easily.  Even when he was forced to do that shit, like when Sam wouldn’t leave him alone, he ended up getting pissed off or turning on the fucking water works. There was something about someone expecting tears that made him want to give them away.

“The reason you’re here is because you tried to kill yourself. I need to know if you’re going to try and do it again once you’re out of here.” 

Dean’s arms were closed tightly around his chest. Everything about him screamed ‘fuck off’ in that moment.

“I’m fine now.” The words were tight and clipped, leaving no room for explanation or elaboration. 

“You really think so?” 

“Yeah I know so.”

“Then how come you can’t sleep?” Henricksen raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Dean read his expression for what is was: he was saying ‘ I got you.’

“I don’t know, you’re the doctor, you tell me.” So much for cooperation.

 “It’s because you’re not fine. Be real with me here. Do you still plan on killing yourself?”

 “I-I, I don’t know.” The honesty surprised him. Dean hadn’t actually known what he was going to say, but he supposed that was the real answer. “Sometimes I feel like everyone would be better off with me out of the picture. But, but I don’t know. Dying is-sometimes I think I want to die, but then sometimes I don’t. I don’t know if I deserve to die or not. I know I’m nothing, but sometimes I’ve been a good person. Sammy’d be sad if I was gone, but I think in the long run it might be better for him. But then, well I’m afraid if I did die, then I’d miss him. I wouldn’t get to see him get married or pop out two point five kids.” Dean heaved a little as he fought back salty little tears. He didn’t want to make a habit of crying in this office.

 “Sammy is your brother right?”

 “Yeah”

 “And you love him?”

“Y-yeah” The tears slipped out of his eyes and into the world as thoughts of Sam, good and bad, flooded Dean’s mind. The pain deeply imbedded within him surged as his emotions demanded to be seen.

“Then you have to live. Your brother loves you as much as you love him. He’d be devastated if you died.”

 “Yeah, but he’d get over it eventually. He probably knows that I’m keeping him down and fucking shit up for him.”

“No, he wouldn’t get over it. If you got sick and you died in a hospital bed, yeah he’d get over it in time. If you got in an accident, he’d be devastated but he’d get over it. He’ll never get over it if the reason he gives a eulogy at your funeral, _is you_. People don’t forget that. You’re telling me you love your brother and that you want to watch him grow up, is that true?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I wanna stay with him.”

“Then you have to fight. Do you want to get better?”

“I, yeah I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t wanna fucking be stuck here. I just want to go home and see my brother.” Dean wiped tears from his eyes and shivered as he felt his protective layer crack and release his gooey insides. Talking with Henricksen was both a relief and a nightmare.

“Why does it all have to hurt? Why does just talking to you hurt so much?”

 Henricksen sighed and handed Dean a tissue. He took it gratefully.

“Therapy is really painful. You’re confronting things you usually keep locked up, and those things usually hurt the worst. But, and this is a huge but, it makes the pain go away after a while.  You’re a fighter Dean, I can tell that about you. Take it a day at a time if you have to. You’re going to be alright brother.”

Eventually the tears dried up and the hiccupping died down, and Dean was able to function again. Henricksen, now comfortable with Dean’s emotional state, moved on to more technical matters.

“I put you on Lexapro, it’s gonna take a little more time to really kick in, but any side effects so far?”

 “No” Dean may of stopped crying but his voice couldn’t hide how recent his last tear was.

“Okay, I’m going to put you on a sleep aid. We’ll start you off with Ambien CR and see how it works out for you. If you ever feel weird you tell a nurse and they’ll come to me about it. You never know how your body is going to react to all these new medications. It can take a few tries to find the right kind and the right doseage.” 

Henricksen scribbled a few unknown sentences onto Dean’s file then engaged in what Dean thought was meaningless small talk. He figured the guy was just trying to talk him into a stable state of being. 

“Okay Dean you go rest up. You got some work ahead of you but you’re going to be just fine.”

 

_______________________________

 

Art therapy was surprisingly fun. In no world was Dean an artist. His ability ranged from stick figures to one step up from stick figures. Originally he’d been kind of anxious about drawing, his stuff was going to be shit and he was confident people would laugh at it, but a look around the room revealed that most people were in the same boat. 

“Can someone pass me the green?” Dean asked as he looked up from his work in progress self-portrait. Cas nodded and rolled over the crayon without even pausing his coloring.

“Thanks man.” Dean rubbed the tip of the crayon in a rounded motion to fill in his irises.

They were drawing themselves, but also what followed them. Currently Dean was still on his own face, he hadn’t quite graduated to using his imagination. His bone structure was nonexistent, his eyes were lopsided, and he really regretted trying to draw teeth.

“I look like fucking Jack Skellington. My mouth looks so scary.” Dean grumbled as he tried to salvage that area of his face.

“Who is Jack Skeleton?” Cas asked as he switched the peach out for black. “Is my hair more brown or black?”

 “Black. Also, come on man. Do you know like any movies at all?” First _Star Wars_ now this! Granted _Star Wars_ was a much greater sin to have not watched than _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , but it was Cas’s consistency in not knowing pop culture references that was pushing Dean over the edge.

 “I’ve seen all the old _Veggie Tales_.”

“The one thing you’ve seen, I have never even heard of.”

“Obviously you need to catch up on your TV viewing habits.” Cas raised up both eyebrows in a friendly challenge before flashing Dean a million-watt smile. Those pearly whites hit Dean right in the chest, and he was completely taken aback by his reaction. The weirdness dissipated instantly though, and he was able to appreciate their quick rapport.

 “Ha.ha. Does this look done to you?” Dean lifted up his drawing to give Cas a better angle.

“You didn’t do your freckles.”

 “My face is a blob and, oh shit I forgot eyebrows, and you’re saying it looks nothing like me because I forgot to add freckles.”

“…Yes.”

 “You’re so weird Cas.”

 “I’m not the one who forgot to give himself eyebrows.”

Dean drew two skinny brown lines over his eyes.

“Problem solved. What do you have to say now huh?” Dean practically shoved the picture in Cas’s face.

“Nothing I suppose. Oh, right, ears.” He went to work on his missing appendages. “Have you noticed that everyone always forgets to draw things like eyebrows and ears, all those important but underrepresented details?”

Clearly Dean was not as observant. He just sort of went with the flow; he was more of a big picture person, always leaving the details to other people.

 “Honestly dude, I never draw, so I never thought about it.”

“I wonder if it means something though. It must.”

 “Like what? That people only see certain parts of themselves but forget the important little things that make them whole?”

Cas looked up wide-eyed. Dean pushed himself back slightly at the man’s reaction. It seemed a bit uncalled for.

“What?”

“That was quite profound. You should write it down somewhere so you don’t forget it.”

“What? No, you write it down.”

“Fine, I will.” On the left side of his overly square face, Cas jotted down Dean’s quote in purple crayon. He added a dash and wrote ‘Dean’ just below the evenly spaced sentence.

 “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Well, you should reevaluate your faith.”

Their chatter died down as they worked on creating a physical manifestation of the negative feelings and situations in their lives. Dean wasn’t a creative type, he wasn’t good at getting symbolic, so he just let his hand dictate what was born on the page. A few minutes passed and Dean sort of got into it. He hadn’t expected to find relief in a dumb first grader exercise (crayons, really?), but marking up the paper and giving his problems a face made Dean’s problems tangible. If it bled, he could kill it.

 “Let’s everyone share. Ava you want to go first?”

Ava, who Dean remembered from group, had drawn a storm cloud following her. The raindrops had words in them, which Dean supposed described her issues. There were a bunch of ugly looking monsters, a few bloodied animals with sharp teeth and red eyes, and the occasional ex-boyfriend.

“Dean, would you share now?”

“Yeah, um so I don’t know why I drew this, but it’s this guy with these yellow eyes.” Dean flipped the page so the room could see. Talking was getting easier for some reason, maybe because he was starting to feel like he had friends in this place.

“He’s sort of like, well I like thinking of him as the reason for all the bad stuff, like he’s the root of it all. He started the fire that, that killed my mom. And he made my dad drink, and you know and he, he got my brother on drugs, and he, um killed my dad. So he’s responsible for me feeling the way I feel, because he made all those things happen, and now I can’t get rid of him, or what he did to my family. But I want to, you know, I want to gank this mother so bad.”

“Great job Dean.” The psychologist smiled at him and Dean could detect a lick of pride in her pretty brown eyes. It had felt good to share. Talking to Henricksen earlier had unleashed something in Dean that made it easier to talk about himself. Like with everything else, practice worked. The more Dean shared and talked, the better he got at it. Maybe he wouldn’t be great at doing this outside the hospital, where people would remember and judge, but in these whitewashed walls he was practically anonymous, and everyone was talking anyway.

“Castiel, how about you go next.”

 “These are the two faces of theater, comedy, and tragedy. I often feel like I am two different people. It’s as though there is something that’s saying I can only smile or frown without an in-between. Sometimes I can strike the balance, but, the masks come back eventually, and they’re rather strict with how I’m allowed to feel.”

“Wonderful, thank you for sharing Castiel. Art therapy is over, if you don’t have group, or empowerment, you’re welcome to stay here for another half hour to draw.”

Art therapy had been a lot better than Dean expected, but he didn’t need another half hour of doodling. The last time he hung out in the rec room Gordon threatened him, but maybe if he had company the guy would leave him alone.

“Hey Cas, wanna hit up the rec room with me?”

“Yes, that sounds lovely.”

They walked through the hall side by side, occasionally nodding at fellow patients who were more social than most.

 “I’ve noticed you’re much more open than you were yesterday.” Cas said as they rounded a corner.

 “You think?” 

“Yes. You’re much more willing to engage.”

 “Well, uh, I dunno, I guess…” Dean rubbed the back of his head bashfully. Cas was a really observant guy and Dean didn’t know how he felt about being noticed by him. The memory of Cas’s smile pushed to the forefront of Dean’s mind and left a lipstick print as it pressed a kiss to his reddening cheeks.

“It’s good. It means you’re making progress.”

“Oh, well that’s good. Are _you_ making progress?” 

Cas inhaled then sighed. He seemed to think over his answer, which was interesting to Dean because in his experience people tended to simply blurt out the easiest answer.

“I believe so. I don’t feel manic anymore, but I’m concerned about the medications they have me on.”

“What do you mean? Weren’t you on stuff before?”

“Yes. But I’ve been given an anti-depressant I’m not particularly fond of, and I refused to take trazodone.”

 “What’s that?”

 “It’s a sleeping pill.”

“Wait I thought you liked those things?” Now Dean was second-guessing his conversation with Henricksen. The reason he’d even asked to get on sleeping pills was because Cas said he should.

 “I do, I just don’t feel it’s the right drug for me. It’s been known to give men prolonged erections, which is not as fun as it sounds, I assure you.”

“Oh my God...So you know a lot about this stuff? How come you know the side effects?”

“When I feel like something is going to greatly affect my life, I like to arm myself with information. It’s always beneficial to have an understanding of matters concerning you.”

 “You sound like my brother.”

 “He’s probably very intelligent.”

 “Ugh, yeah, you sound exactly like him.”

This time _The Real Housewives_ was not gracing their television screen. Dean didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.  Dean had a habit of getting into shows not targeted towards his demographic. The tendency ran so deep he got hooked on the telenovela  _Eva Luna_ ; he didn’t even speak Spanish. He was probably better off it wasn’t on. It was better he was cut off before he became shamefully addicted.

Unfortunately there wasn’t a whole lot to do in the rec room. Mysteriously there was a ping-pong table, but no rackets or balls. Cas managed to find cards, which was fine by Dean because he knew his way around a game of poker. He was a little less than thrilled, however, about who decided to join their game. Dean had been right in the middle of explaining the rules to Cas (the guy didn’t even know how to play Blackjack) when the hospital’s number one creep invited himself over.

 Dean felt gross as soon as Alastair pulled up a chair. That was what was crazy too, the guy didn’t even ask to play, he just joined on in.

“Poker, what are we betting?” Alistair spoke as he collected the cards (including the one from Cas’s hand) and reshuffled. Dean was immediately on the defensive. He furrowed his brow into his ‘business’ face and bit out a gruff reply.

“Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“You’d be surprised where my interests lie. What are those, Monopoly properties?”

 “Dean was very creative in finding a substitute for chips.” Cas chimed in, completely oblivious the silent war transpiring next to him.  

“I’m sure he can be very creative.” Alastair hummed, voice dripping with unwelcome innuendo. “Care to make it interesting boys?” That shark smile was back.

 “Listen pal, Cas here is a beginner. I’m not about to watch him blow his life savings away because you’re in the mood to hustle.”

“Dean, so testy. I don’t want money. What would I do with money anyway?”

 Dean and Cas shared a look of confusion. Alastair was odd, but most people liked cash. More importantly however, was what Alastair was so intent on betting. 

“Invest it.” It was the most unsexy, lame response Dean had ever heard, and it came straight out of Cas’s mouth. The beginnings of a laugh slipped past Dean’s lips. Alastair didn’t seem happy about having his thunder stolen.

“Laughing now, but I could put that mouth to better work.”

That shut Dean up. He placed both hands on the table and leaned in towards their unwelcome guest.

“Excuse me?” Dean’s tone was sharp and baiting, a clear invitation to fight.

 “I think you know exactly what I mean. Why don’t I place my bet. If I win I get to see those girly lips wrapped tight around my—“

“Enough.” Cas stood up abruptly. “Leave. Now.” 

“Look at this, standing up to protect your little boyfriend?”

“I will not tolerate this kind of harassment. You were uninvited and I want you out of my sight.”

Dean was sitting still in surprise. First of all, getting sexually harassed in a mental hospital wasn’t something he ever expected to happen to him. To be honest he was still reeling from that a bit. But the surprise kept coming when Cas was became his knight in shining armor. Not that Dean needed a knight, it was just weird that he ended up with one.

Alastair raised himself up slowly with the slippery finesse of a snake. He tilted his head to the side as he examined Castiel with calculating eyes before angling himself so he could get Dean into the frame as well.

“Call me when you two break up. I’ll get what I want one way or another.” With that he slipped off, probably to harass someone else.

“Are you alright Dean?” 

“…What the fuck was that!?” It was almost surreal. Truly it was an unexpected turn of events. Alastair’s behavior in group suggested that he was somewhat interested in Dean, but he’d chalked that up to being new.

“I believe you were just sexually harassed.”

 “Yeah no shit. What the hell though. I mean what did he expect, that I’d be like ‘Oh yeah sure, you won fair and square, let me suck you off?’” That would be ridiculous. “Am I in a TV show, what’s going on!”

 “Clearly Alastair has a lack of propriety and little regard for others. It probably has to do with why he’s here at all.”

“I’ve been here two days and I’ve already made two enemies!”

“Two?”

 “Yeah I’m pretty sure Gordon threatened to kill me because I wouldn’t hunt vampires with him.” The nonchalance with which Dean delivered the sentence made it all the more absurd.  “Also Cas you might want to watch your back around him, I think he thinks you’re some kind of monster or something.”

 “Me? I haven’t even spoken with him.”

“I don’t know man, the guy was all kinds of crazy.”

 An uncomfortable silence came over them. Cas sat down and collected the cards, forming them into a perfectly stacked rectangle.

“Perhaps we should stick to Go Fish.”

 

_______________________________

 

Dinner wasn’t nearly as eventful as both the morning and afternoon. The menu was better than the fish they had for lunch, but that was really the only bonus. Pamela delivered Dean his sleeping pill and he waited in his bed for the drug to take him.

 It wasn’t as immediate as he would have liked.

An hour after he’d taken the pill, Dean was more drunk than drowsy. He was  also drenched in sweat. The moisture on his skin was making him feel dirtier than he had all week. Taking a shower now was out of the question, but that meant he might have to take a shower tomorrow, and Dean wasn’t sure he was going to be able to close his eyes without imagining Alastair’s face creeping from behind the shower curtain to catch a peek.

Thoughts of ugly smiles and monster hunts plagued him until the Ambien turned off his switch and catapulted him into darkness.

 Dean awoke from a full night of sleep for the first time in two weeks.


	7. Chapter 7

Sleep was the best drug Dean had ever had. There was something about blinking the night out of his eyes as the sun peaked through the blinds that got him up on the _right_ side of the bed for once. He felt like a person for the first time in a long time. The chirping of the birds didn’t even piss him off like it usually did.

Dean reached behind himself (he was a stomach sleeper) and pulled up his pants. For some reason real sleep made his clothes want to fall off. He had a bit of a cottonmouth, and it made him smack his lips together a few times, but he’d take cottonmouth over a sleepless night of staring at a poorly insulated ceiling. Somehow he’d gotten tangled up in the sheets, and getting out of his bed was a bit of a fiasco. Once Dean unhooked his foot from the apparently clingy hospital-blue sheet, he sat straight up, rolled his neck, and arched his back until it popped. Stretching was strangely satisfying and Dean reveled in how good his body felt, even if his muscles were a little sore and his skin felt tacky from sweat.

Pamela opened the door and reared back slightly when she saw Dean in his upright position. The past two mornings when she went to wake him he’d been holed up under the covers—this change was jarring but not unwelcome.

“Morning sunshine. You feel like a shower today?”

Dean narrowed his eyes as he thought about what showering in a mental hospital would entail. The grime on his skin needed to go, but he wasn’t sure it was worth the potential humiliation.

“Is someone gonna watch me?” He asked as he tilted his head to the side in a very childlike gesture of inquisition.

“No. I unlock the shower, I give you shampoo, and I knock on the door every few minutes to see if everything’s okay.”

“Oh, then yeah, I’ll shower.”

“Grab your towel, your soap, and a fresh change of clothes.”

Even though Dean was going to be in his own little stall, the half naked patients getting in and out of showers all around him was making him uncomfortable. Dean wasn’t a kid, and was he so entitled he thought he deserved his own private bathroom, it was just that he’d only cleaned up around people he knew really well before—well aside from the sponge baths and assisted showers at the hospital, but those memories were so mortifying that he blocked them out completly. It was weird seeing patients in towels. Most people weren’t exactly easy on the eyes, not that Dean really expected them to be, but he couldn’t remember a time he’d seen men of so many different ages half naked next to each other. It was kind of weird actually, especially because there were female nurses coming in and out of the bathroom to check on people.

“Okay Dean, here’s your shower.” Pamela unlocked the frosted glass door to reveal a partially clean but still kind of grimy shower stall.

“You can hang your towel and clothes over the door, okay?”

“Um, got it.”

“See you in a few.”

Dean shut the door and made a circle around himself in the tight space. He threw the towel and his fresh clothing over the door, but removing his clothes was incredibly awkward. The shirt he was wearing, which was being a huge bitch, got tangled up in his arms and forced Dean into fight with his own shoulders. After slamming his fist, accidentally of course, into the tile wall, Dean threw his shirt too vigorously and instead of draping nicely over the door, it flew out and into the world.

“Son of a bitch!”

The shirt needed to be retrieved before Dean lost his pants. A certain part of him, the one that made morally loose decisions, thought it might be a good idea to just leave it out there, but Dean had always been one to 'do the right thing', especially if it was self-punishing.

With a huge sigh that pushed streams of air straight down his nose, Dean pushed open the glass door, bent his knees so he was low to the ground, and reached out to grab the dumb shirt. It was actually kind of farther away than it looked. Never known for his grace, Dean ended up leaning on the precarious shower door for support while he reached out so far that his back arched and his ass lifted just to accommodate the stretch. He looked fucking ridiculous and he knew it.

Just as his fingers curled in on the fabric, two feet forced themselves into Dean’s direct line of vision.

“What a sight.”

“Fuck off Alastair.” Dean spat then grabbed his t-shirt before falling forward as the door swung open.

“Oh believe me, I’m trying to fuck something.”

Face down on his hands and knees was not the ideal position to be having this interaction. Dean pushed himself up quickly.

“It’s not gonna happen. And by the way, if you want someone, you don’t seduce them by creeping up on them and saying threatening shit.”

Alastair smirked and adjusted his towel so it hung looser and lower on his hips. It was a sight Dean wished he could set on fire and then run over with a monster truck.

“I don’t like what I see asshole! Jesus take a fucking hint! You’re not my type.” It was hard to believe Alastair could be anyone’s type. Seriously though, Dean didn’t understand how many times he had to reject Alastair before the guy wised up and left him alone.

“No your type is stubley dark haired crazies. Maybe I’d have better luck if I slashed my wrists. Like them damaged don’t you.”

First and foremost, whoa what an implication, but secondly, Alastair was viscous and vehemently insensitive—especially for a guy who’d also landed in a mental hospital.

“Are you some kind of psychopath?! What the fuck is wrong with you? I feel like I’m talking to Ted Bundy every time you open your mouth.”

“That was defensive. Did I get too close to the truth? And for the record, I’m more Dhamer than Bundy.”

It was never a good sign when someone willingly compared themself to a notorious serial killer. Owning insults was usually a good thing, but not in this case. It was just troubling. Depression had made Dean slothful and complacent, especially when it came to affronts against him, but behind the foggy layer of hopelessness was Dean fucking Winchester, badass. Dean was taller, broader, and younger than Alastair. He also didn’t have to worry about keeping his towel up. He got straight into Alastair’s face and tilted his head up in practiced alpha male aggression.

“You listen to me you son of a bitch. I may not be able to kick your ass like you deserve while I’m in here, but I swear to God if you so much as look at me funny or try to get to me through someone else, once I get out I will _hunt you down and kill you_.” Dean jerked forward forcing Alastair to lean back slightly. The aggression hung in the air like warning alarm signaling an imminent disaster. Alastair circled his tongue around his mouth making Dean’s face crumple in disgust at the slimly sound of it.

“I look forward to it.”

Dean stood in loaded stillness as Alastair turned his back and walked to the sinks. Bursts of adrenaline shot down his body from their origin at his heart. His current state was a mixture of defiled and angry. The shirt now firmly clutched in his fist would have screamed and begged for its life were it sentient, for Dean regarded it as the reason his unfortunate conversation with Alastair occurred at all.

The lukewarm water wiped the dirt away, but did not rid Dean of the ugly feeling in his gut. No clean was deep enough to eradicate problems underneath the skin.

For some reason, Dean had to use baby shampoo despite being an adult. Sure babies smelled good (provided they hadn’t just shat themselves), but he wasn’t sure it was the appropriate fragrance for a man approaching his thirties. Dean grunted as he massaged his scalp through the lather. He was pissed. This morning seemed like a step in the right direction, but now the yellow-eyed man was back and he was buddy buddy with Alastair. It was amazing how easy it was to internalize sexual harassment. On some level Dean felt he probably deserved what he’d got; he was nothing, and people could taste that around him, so Alastair probably saw an opportunity to use him and took it. That was all Dean was good for anyway.

He closed his eyes as some of the lather slid down his face. Good thing it was baby shampoo, the normal kind would have just given him a burning red eye.

Fearful of more of Alastair’s unwelcome advances, Dean dried off and put on his new hospital clothes while he was still in the stall. Pamela was waiting for him when he walked out.

“Nice and clean huh? Time to brush your teeth.” She handed Dean a cheap looking toothbrush and a tiny toothpaste. Even if the yellow-eyed man was back, a thorough cleaning was doing Dean quite a bit of good.

___________________________

“Hello Dean”

“Hiya Cas. I didn’t see you at lunch.” Dean turned away from _The Real Housewives_ to give Cas a titled smile. Dean’d had bad luck with the rec room before, but you know what they say, third time’s the charm. Castiel sat on the couch next to Dean but left about eight inches between them.

“I was visited by my brother who later joined me for a meeting with my psychologist.”

“Yeah?” Dean drew himself away from the television for real now. He was curious to hear what Castiel had to say because it seemed like he was gearing up for some news.

“A few things need to be settled, but I may be leaving St. Luke’s tonight.”

“Oh…” Dean didn’t know why that hurt. If anything this was good news, Cas got to leave, which meant he was doing better and that was fucking fantastic, but that also meant Dean would be stuck here…without Cas. A heavy pressure built in Dean’s chest and pushed down his heart and other vital organs. It was ridiculous to feel this way. Dean didn’t even really know Cas at all, and it wasn’t like they’d gotten super close through some sort of shared traumatic experience, but somewhere between their three AM talk and Cas’s way of turning his questions into witty answers, Dean had gotten attached.

“That’s, that’s great man.” Dean smiled sadly but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. I wanted to let you know before it seemed as though I disappeared. How was group therapy? I’m sorry I missed it.”

“It was a mess, like it always is. Garth put Mr. Fizzles away, thank God. It was a ‘big breakthrough’.” Talking to Cas, noticing how his eyebrows pinched together when he was listening, it was making Dean sad. For some reason completely unbeknownst to him, he was going to miss the nerdy little dude. Perhaps Dean was just terrified of being alone in here, he didn’t know.

“Has Alastair bothered you?”

Dean pursed his lips and turned his head away.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“What did he do? I won’t-“

“Calm down, will you. I told you I got it.”

“Dean, he can’t go around-“

“I’m a big boy Cas, I can handle myself.”

Castiel shut his mouth abruptly. He grew silent and sat in the tension for a few seconds before speaking up again.

“I’m very happy to have met you Dean, even if it was under terrible circumstances.”

“Are you saying goodbye?”

“I think I am.” Cas’s cheek twitched and Dean fought a lump in his throat. He was never going to see Cas again. The time they shared had been as quick as two guys making eye contact in a Starbucks, but it had meant a lot. Those little moments always did.

“You take care of yourself Cas.”

“And you as well Dean.”

Dean’s tongue clicked once it broke free of the pressure building in his mouth. A little unsure, and maybe a bit hesitant, Dean reached out and pat Castiel’s shoulder. He squeezed it tightly so he could make their goodbye tangible. Dean wanted to feel his last moment with Cas, and sometimes memories faded when they weren’t connected to touch.

Dean didn’t see Cas for the rest of the day. He was certain he wouldn’t see him for the rest of his life.

___________________________

Dean’s overall demeanor was quiet and reserved during his session with Dr. Henricksen. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“How was your day Dean?”

“Fine.”

“How did the Ambien work out for you?”

Dean shifted in the chair and pulled his robe around him tighter.

“Good. Slept like a baby.”

“That’s good to hear. So we’ll keep you on that for the time being. Hopefully it’ll get you back to sleeping on your own.” Henricksen jotted something on Dean’s chart. He was always jotting things down.

“So the staff is telling me you’ve been doing pretty well. They say you’re sharing more, and that you’re engaging in group activities. I heard you even made a few friends.”

“Yeah I guess. Everyone keeps saying I got to work hard if I want to get better, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Well good. Good, for you Dean. You should be proud of yourself. This stuff ain’t easy.”

“You’re telling me.”

Henricksen took a minute to pause the conversation. He looked Dean up and down, read his face, jotted something down, looked at him again, then put his pen down.

“You seem quiet. Is there something wrong?”

“No…” It occurred to Dean then, that if he wanted to get out of here like Cas had, that he had to pretend to be totally okay. “I just, someone left today and I, I guess I miss them.”

“Do you mind if I ask who?”

“…Castiel.”

“Why do you think you’re upset about him leaving?”

“Because, I don’t know, he was my friend in here. He knew stuff, like how all of this crap worked, and that made me feel better. He wasn’t a doctor, he was some guy who was in the same boat as me, but he knew what was happening when I was lost, and that, that helped me because I was afraid, but he wasn’t.”

Henricksen pinched a tissue from his box of kleenex, pulled it up, and held it out to Dean.

“I’m not going to cry.”

Henricksen pulled the tissue back and set in on his desk.

“So would you say Castiel was a source of stability for you while you were in here?”

“No. No, I don’t think he was stable. You know what, I think maybe he was afraid. Maybe I just related to him or something. But I liked him. And he liked me I think. It felt good for some to want to be around me.”

“You keep talking about him in the past tense, why?”

Dean paused as he collected his thoughts. There was a sort finality about Cas’s exit. Cas was a blip in time, fast as a snap, and now it was over.

“It feels like he’s dead.”

“Why does it feel that way?”

“Because I’m never going to see him again.”

“Well you never know Dean, but more importantly, it’s okay. You connected with someone and now you’re sad because they’re gone. A lot of people are going to impact you throughout your life, but instead of lamenting the fact that they aren’t there any more, and focusing on what you’re potentially losing, remember what you gained, and be happy with what you had.”

“So basically, you want me to be a glass is half full person.”

“If you want to think of it that way. Optimism doesn’t develop over night, but there’s no harm in trying. If you do get into a funk though, distract yourself. It sounds stupid, but it works.”

Henricksen breathed in as a segue into the next order of business. He shuffled around with Dean’s papers before pulling a particular one out.

“So Dean, we are closing in on the seventy two hour mark, which mean’s your mandatory stay with us is almost over. Now I can keep you here longer, but I think you’re doing okay, and you’ve been away from home for over two weeks, that can’t feel good. Before we send you home though, we have to go over a few things. First of all, this prescription I have you on will last you till the end of the month, but you need to get yourself a therapist and psychiatrist. When we discharge you, I’m going to give you a list of doctors that take your insurance. You need to get a therapist and psychiatrist. That is not a suggestion.”

All this talk of going home was surreal. Dean expected one of his typical tearful conversations with Henricksen, not the second goodbye of the day.

“Do you live with anyone?”

“My brother.”

“Okay good. If you ever feel like you’re spiraling and you’re tempted to abuse your medication, ask him to hold it and distribute it for you. Use him to get better, he’s going to want to help anyway, trust me.”

“Okay”

“You seem a little dazed, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just excited to go home I think.”

“Well, I think tomorrow morning you should be set to go, as long as nothing happens in the meantime. Now your brother told us he would come pick you up, is that alright with you?”

“I, I dunno if I want him to see me like this.”

“Don’t worry, he can’t come farther than the waiting room, and you leave wearing all your own clothes.”

“Then, then that’s fine.”

“Alright Dean, our time is over. You do what I tell you, get some doctors, and keep up the good work.”

__________________________

Dean was extremely jittery when he went to bed. He kept thinking about his brother, his comfy memory foam matress, and good home cooked food. Hell, even a diner would be a blessing. The only reason he slept at all was because the Ambien doped him up real good. It was another reason to be thankful for that particular prescription.

Dean woke up much like he had yesterday morning. It took his fuzzy sleep-drunk brain some time to remember he was going home, but once it did Dean was immediately filled with both excitement and anxiety. He wanted out, and badly, but things were going to be so different now and Dean was afraid of the changes that would surely come.

Pamela was there to take him to the bathroom. He went through the motions of getting the day started, but his typical mental hospital routine was dramatically altered when he filled out paperwork (so much paperwork), collected his belongings, and put on real honest to God jeans.

After twenty-five people told him to take care of himself, Dean was taken to the waiting room where he would be discharged and taken home. He was a little nervous actually. Sam had been his little brother all his life, so it was weird to be so anxious about seeing him.

“Dean!” Sam rushed forward like a charging moose and pulled Dean into a crushing hug. Dean hugged back once he recovered from the initial shock. Sam was warm and solid against his body. He smelled clean like their shampoo, but a little sweaty at the same time. Dean never wanted to let go. Dean may do a bit of alpha male posturing here and there, refuse affection in public, and emotional talks in private, but he would always be there to hug Sam, especially when his hugs felt this good.

“Hey Sammy”

They separated and Sam got what Dean deemed pre-cry eyes. Dean had cried enough these past few days, and he did not need any more tears.

“Come on Sammy let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally out of the hospital! There's probably going to be a bit of a time skip in the next chapter, but Cas will be back! A mental hospital probably wouldn't let Dean or Cas out this early after such serious suicide attempts, but fiction…so yeah. I'm impatient, sue me.


	8. Chapter 8

The thing about depression is, it wants to hurt you. It is a disease, a disorder, a part of life, and a deep-rooted piece of who you are, despite not being you at all.

Since returning from the hospital there were three different Deans: depressed Dean, not depressed Dean, and in the middle Dean. Each Dean was the same person, yet completely different in fundamentally important aspects. Depressed Dean could not get out of bed, so Sam came home to his brother lying in his own urine. Not depressed Dean got a haircut and shaved. He looked very handsome. In the middle Dean called three different therapists and one psychiatrist. He also went back to work. Dean would get better, then worse, and then better again, because depression was cyclical, and even though he was fighting, it was hard to win a war against an enemy that lived inside his brain.

“Well why can’t you get the groceries then?” Dean huffed into his cell phone as he held the door open for a woman and her two boys.

 “I told you, I have to meet with Benny after work and we have no food.”

“Whenever I buy groceries you always complain that I get the wrong stuff. I have no idea what ingredients go into your stupid smoothies. Juice should never be green Sammy, it’s just not right.”

“Come on, you know what I like.”

 “But Sam!”

 “And this time get the whole wheat pasta like I tell you to all the time. A healthy body is a healthy mind Dean. And you should really substitute turkey for beef; I know you love your burgers, but they’re going to harden your arteries or some shit and—“

 “Sammy, Sammy, you have got to stop. I’ll get groceries, but you can never suggest getting anything other than beef again.”

 “…Don’t forget to check the lettuce to see if it’s good.”

 “Bitch”

 “Jerk”

The line died along with their conversation as Dean moved through an aisle of cheap toys to get to the back of the store where the pharmacy was. This was Dean’s second time picking up his prescriptions. Dr. Crowley, his new psychiatrist, decided to keep him on Lexapro, but gave him a whole cocktail of drugs to “stabilize” him for the time being. Cymbalta and Wellbutrin would also being going down the hatch now. Dr. Crowley even upped Dean’s dosage of Ambien when he started staying awake through the night again. Apparently some anti-depressants, especially SSRIs (Dean got a mini lesson during his thirty minutes in the office), could inhibit sleep.

 The best part of being on medication was that Dean got to sleep. The worst part was that he couldn’t drink. Drinking had been a huge part of Dean’s life for years. Everyone who pictured Dean imagined him with a beer in his hand—stopping cold turkey wasn’t easy. In the three weeks he’d been out of the hospital, he’d been asked by five different people if he was an alcoholic. The idea was ridiculous to him, and he was pissed off that people were reading so heavily into his behavior when some of those assholes didn’t even know him. Of course Sam had practically screamed at him that he had a drinking problem, but Sam was one to talk.

 It had been particularly irritating when Dr. Crowley drilled it into his head that he couldn’t drink while he was on medication. Excuse Dean for wanting to toss back a few beers upon getting out of the fucking hospital. First his brother now his doctor, who was next? The guy in front of him on line probably got to drink.

Waiting in line was the worst, but waiting in line at a pharmacy was both nerve racking and interesting. It was nerve wracking because it meant other people would know he had some kind of issue. His head looked good, the swelling was down and the bruises were gone, but Dean still felt like people _knew_. The interesting part about waiting in a pharmacy was that Dean was exactly the type of person he feared: he was trying to guess what kind of medical problems everyone around him had.  He didn’t really bother with the old people, and man were there a lot of them. It’s not that Dean hated the elderly, it was just that they had so many problems Dean couldn’t begin to narrow their issues down to any one condition. Every elderly person Dean met complained about their thyroid, whether it was hyper or hypo, and honestly, Dean didn’t even know what a thyroid was. He also didn’t know the difference between hyper and hypo, but he blamed that on his piss poor education. Every old person had a thyroid problem in Dean's head. Younger people were way easier to speculate about.

The guy in front of him was probably here for blood pressure pills or something because he was a little chubby, and extremely stressed out. Dean imagined touching the guy's sweating back and having it play out like an Indiana Jones movie—seriously the guy looked like he was going to explode. The teenage girl and her mother were an easy guess. The girl had bloody gauze in her mouth and her face was swollen up like a chipmunk's. Dental surgery, Dean would bet his life she’d got her wisdom teeth out. They were getting painkillers and antibiotics. That one was too easy. Dean needed more of a challenge. Trench coat guy looked like a mystery. Dean could only see his back, and he was hunched over a little, but not in that arthritis way, so that was off the table.  He was clearly comfortable standing very still for a while, so he was either paralyzed, which, because he’d clearly walked here, was obviously untrue, or really sturdy. If he was sturdy he was probably somewhat fit. The back of his head didn’t seem old so he was probably healthy enough in that regard. Shit what was it? Dean wasn’t getting any vibes.

Trench Coat turned slightly when he took his bag of medications, and Dean sucked in a short inhale. Cas!? So much time had passed by that Dean almost forgot about him. Moreover he never expected to see him since his discharge. Shit, why was Dean getting all nervous and jittery?

Dean turned his head to the side sharply when Cas turned his heel and walked down an aisle and presumably out the door. Dean was left wanting both to not be seen and to be spotted all at once. After counting to five, Dean turned his head around so he could watch Cas’s back exit the pharmacy. He hadn’t pegged him for a trench coat kind of guy. It just proved how little he knew about the man he’d spent close to five days mourning.

 _________________________

 

Grocery shopping was the worst. Dean couldn’t understand how he could love food so much, but hate the place it came from with a fucking passion. Grocery stores were always too air-conditioned, and God forbid he needed to go into the meat section—every time he went to get ground beef, icicles formed on his eyelashes. Dean was currently a shivering mess as he wheeled his cart (which kept veering to the left thanks to a funky wheel) past the fish and through the chicken gateway to get to the good stuff: red meat.

So he grabbed a few skinless chicken breasts for Sam along the way, whatever.  Dean sneered at the light pink mush of ground turkey. Like hell he’d eat a turkey burger over a real one—you didn’t fuck with a classic.

The thick steak resting on a bed of white styrofoam felt powerful in Dean’s hand. He treated the piece of meat with reverence as he placed it on the top area of the cart where children usually sat. Steaks were sacred, but not as common as burgers in the Winchester household. Ground beef was important, especially the kind that came already packed into discs. His eyes zeroed in on the pack of burgers destined to be his. As he reached out to grab the meat, a hand picked up the tray next to his. That was a little too close for comfort but whatever. This guy clearly didn’t understand personal space.

Though Dean was partially in his own world, he did notice the hand holding the burgers freeze midair. Stopping short wasn’t crazy behavior by any means, but how jerky the guy had been was definitely strange and it warranted a look. When Dean lifted his head to investigate, he jerked his hamburgers and stood stupidly still.

“Hello Dean.”

“C-Cas”

What were the odds he’d run into him twice in the same day? In the frigid section of the grocery store no less!? Cas did say he liked burgers.

Dean did an awkward little dance as he fluctuated between going in for a hug, a shoulder pat, and a handshake. Cas didn’t fare much better. He kept reaching out with his burger hand then pulling it back. Onlookers must have thought their interaction was painful at best.  It didn’t help that they were standing super close to each other—limited mobility meant wonky movements. Eventually Dean, who was slightly more graceful in social situations (and that was being kind with Cas’s abilities), dropped his meat into his cart and reached out to pat Cas’s shoulder warmly as he worked his face into one of those smiles reserved for suddenly having to interact with people.

Cas returned the greeting with a close-lipped smile. Dean’s mouth twitched when he caught himself thinking that Cas looked handsome when he was happy.

“Long time no see.”

“Yes, this is rather unexpected.” So not the warmest welcome on Cas’s part, word-wise, but Cas did seem focused on Dean’s face even if he was a bit uncomfortable, and that had to count for something.

“Um, how are you, after…you know?”

“I’m…well.”

Hesitations spoke volumes.  Cas did look better. He had a little more color, a little less stubble, and a lot more layers of clothing—but while looks were an indication of the inner chronicles of a person’s mind, they could be incredibly deceiving. It’s not like Dean even knew what Cas looked like when he was doing his best.

“But like, really?”

Cas seemed to deliberate his course of action before leaning in towards Dean and replying in a soft hushed tone. 

“My condition is improving, but as I’m sure you can imagine it’s been a bit…difficult.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah well, what’re you gonna do? No one really gets it. I just end up feeling dumb and alone.”

“You are _not_ dumb. And, even though feeling isolated is a part of…depression, I don’t like that you feel that way. I often feel alone, and it is unpleasant.”

Dean pursed his lips and looked over his shoulder. He wanted to say something forward, but was battling the urge to keep their chance encounter a singular event. They hadn’t seen each other in three weeks, and then like magic they ran into each other twice in the span of an hour. Accidents don’t just happen accidentally! This meant something, and dammit Dean was going to man up and capitalize on what the universe was throwing at him!

“Maybe we should hang out.” It was out there, and Dean was struck by how lame it sounded. “I feel alone, you feel alone, we both _get_ it…”

“I’m not following.”

“I’m saying maybe if instead of us being alone, we like become friends and I guess, help each other.”

“I see.”

Dean was sweating now. Cas was going to reject him, and then where would he be? This was why he needed to stop going out on a limb. No wonder he was alone, he was always reading things wrong and doing the worst thing.

“I’ll give you my number.”

“Awesome”

 _________________________

 

Dean was devastatingly handsome. It was almost painful to behold. Of course he had thought so when they were in the hospital together, but seeing Dean free of bruises, well it was almost unbelievable.

“Your total is fifty four seventy eight. How do you want to pay?”

“Credit please”

Castiel swiped and signed, then spent the walk to his car thinking of Dean.

Dean was a song stuck in his head that followed him home. As Cas unpacked his groceries and put the milk in the fridge, he tried to understand how a man could have heavenly light radiating out of his body.  Words came easy to Dean; he had a grace to his charm that kept Cas hanging onto his stutters and ‘ums’.  With Dean even the sidesteps and mistakes were interesting. All of Dean was interesting. From his big round eyes (which were green, because yes, he was that gorgeous), to the dimples that rested just under the apples of his cheeks when he was thinking, Dean was a comet turning heads as he shot across a desolate black sky.

Cas placed the jar of peanut butter on the counter then slid onto the barstool with his face in his palms.  This was bad, very bad.  For reasons altogether too obvious yet unfathomable, Cas had the inklings of _feelings_ for Dean: a man he barely knew, who had taken a gun and shot himself in the face.

It was ridiculous, and unfair. Of all creation Dean was undoubtedly the most beautiful, inside an out, and he was being dangled in Castiel’s face. Cas was awkward, and blunt in the worst sense, but it wouldn’t be that hard to just spit out: ‘Would you go out on a date with me?’ The problem was that he was not at a point in his life where he could be considered ‘dateable’. Just a few weeks ago he’d stood in this same kitchen and cut his wrists with a chef’s knife. Dean wasn’t dateable either. However true the notion, it didn’t stop Cas from falling into a future scenario where he and Dean were sitting in a love seat, all pressed up against each other, explaining how they’d met in a mental hospital, and muttering to a camera about how: ‘Good things could happen on even the worst days.’ It was so sickly sweet it made his teeth hurt. Cas wanted it to be a reality so bad.

Beyond all of Castiel’s reasons for why the hypothetical relationship between he and Dean (whose last name he didn’t even know) wouldn’t work, was the fact that Dean probably didn’t want to date him. Sure, Dean had extended an invitation for friendship, but being friends was very different from being more than friends. Dean was probably straight too. That would be just like Castiel, falling for the straight guy.

Cas’s phone buzzed from inside his pocket. With furrowed brows and a heavy heart he unlocked the home screen and checked out his texts.

 

 

He blinked at the screen. Dean wanted to get coffee, he was initiating. Cas was sure Dean was just after friendship, but the hope that there was more interwoven in those six letters and one question mark made his fingers type before he could formulate a discouraging thought.

 

He had a date. It was casual and they were just friends, but Cas had a date. Happiness felt good. Cas wanted more of it.

 

_________________________

 

Dean wasn’t exactly a Starbucks guy. Now that he couldn’t drink, going to get drinks was out of the question, so coffee was the easy substitute. Dean wasn’t a Starbucks guy, but hell if he knew any other place to sit and drink coffee…well, aside from his house. He was going to have to become a Starbucks guy. That fucking sucked.

Dean was currently standing in the middle of the Starbucks, with a grande (why it wasn’t called medium was a mystery) hot coffee with milk, no sugar, in hand, waiting for Cas and trying to grab a seat. It was a Saturday and every aspiring screenwriter, middle school girl, and loner elderly person decided to get coffee.  Looks like Dean’s plan wasn’t very original.

He pinched the lid off his coffee and blew on the liquid before taking a tentative sip. That shit was strong—Dean was afraid it would put a hair on his chest. With no hope of ever getting a seat, Dean took to staring out the window in hopes of spotting Castiel.

“Speak of the devil.” Dean smiled at Cas through the window and threw up his hand in a hearty wave. Cas lifted his hand demurely but hit Dean with a smile that set off fireworks in Dean’s chest. He hit his sternum and forced a cough. 

“Hey Cas”

“Hello Dean”

“I got my drink already but I’ll try and grab a seat while you wait on line.”

“Alright” 

Three minutes later Cas walked up to Dean with his drink, and there were still no seats. If anything the place got even more crowded because people like Cas and Dean were loitering around waiting to jump on empty tables.

“I dunno Cas, it doesn’t look like we’re getting a seat.”

“Hmm. We could always go on a walk. It would certainly be less crowded.”

“Yeah, way more private. Let’s do it.”

They left the whirring crunch of fledgling frappuccinos and the scent of muted coffee beans behind as they meandered slowly down the block and into the town neither of them knew they shared. 

“Tell me Dean, what have you been doing these passed three weeks?”

“The usual…I’ve actually been doing a lot.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I never had a doctor, like a therapist or psychiatrist before. You know I didn’t even know there was a psy _chologist_ and a psy _chiatrist_. I thought there was just like, one guy. Anyway, I needed to get doctors, so I’ve been making a bunch of appointments and I finally got a doctor and they put me on like a million pills.”

“That happens. Once they think you’re stable enough you’ll probably be weaned off of a few prescriptions.”

“Well that’s good I guess. It freaks my brother out when I hold them all in my hand. It’s kind of funny even if it’s well, sad.”

“It’s not sad. You’re getting better, that should be a happy event.”

“Yeah but people only take pills when there’s something wrong with them.”

“That kind of talk will bring the vitamin industry to its knees.”

“Shit, guess you’re right. I never thought about that.”

“How are you though?”

“You mean how am I feeling?”

“Yes” 

“I’m okay I think. Some days are harder than others, some days are so fucking hard…but there are good days too, and my brother is trying to be there and stuff. I dunno, I just like knowing he’s around.”

“I have brothers.”

“Yeah?”

“Two of them, Michael and Gabriel.”

“And you’re _Castiel_?”

“My cousin’s name is Raphael so my parents couldn’t complete the trifecta.”

“Of what?”

“Archangels”

“Oh got it. Wait, so they went with Castiel? I mean, I like your name, I’m just saying it’s unusual.”

“I never got those key chains with your name on it when I was a kid.”

“I’m so sorry Cas, that must have been incredibly hard for you.” Dean smirked over at Cas whose cheek pinched up in amicable regard.

“It was! The worst part was that Michael insisted on always getting those things. We had twenty mugs with his name on them!” Cas sounded upset but his smile proved otherwise. “My name was actually a mistake. It was supposed to be Cassiel, who is a lesser known archangel. He’s not as…cool, as Michael or Gabriel, but he loves humanity, and there’s something very beautiful in that. The name was so obscure it was written wrong on my birth certificate. My father liked the way Castiel sounded though, so here I am.”

“Dude, your name is so intense. It _means_ something.”

“I just told you my name was a mistake…Castiel doesn’t mean anything.”

“But it does! Your parents got thrown a shitty situation and they rolled with it. How cool is that?”

“It’s a little cool.”

“You mean a lot cool.”

Cas rolled his eyes a little but smiled brightly because when Dean smiled the world smiled with him. “Fine. It’s a lot cool.”

“So Cas, what have you been up to?”

“Just trying to get my life back together. My world stopped but the _world_ didn’t. I started seeing clients again last week.”

Dean furrowed his brows. Clients? That probably had to do with Cas’s job, but not many people would phrase it that way.

“What do you do?” 

“I’m a psychiatrist.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. His sudden stop was so abrupt Cas took two more steps forward before pausing. A psychiatrist? A fucking psychiatrist? Was that a joke? Crazy Cas who went on about the ethics of maple syrup and talked with him at three AM because they both needed to be medicated in order to sleep? That Cas? 

“Dean?”

“You’re really a psychiatrist?”

“Yes”

“Wait so,” Dean moved in towards Cas and lowered his voice to a whisper. “you’re allowed to be one, even though you’re bipolar?”

“…Yes.”

“Whoa, I totally thought you had to be like completely, I dunno, you know?”

“I understand. No. I find that a lot of people who go into clinical psychology and psychiatry are people who either have a mental illness, or are close to people with them. It creates this need to understand, or to help, and then that becomes your profession.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to talk to you.”

“You find it easy to talk to me?”

“Yeah-what are you smiling about?”

“I suppose that makes me happy.”

“Yeah? Look at us, two fucked up sad people smiling together. I knew hanging out was a good idea.”

 

_________________________

 

They got coffee again on Tuesday and also on Thursday. It was Friday, and by some sheer stroke of luck, they got a table.

“Can you believe we got a table? It’s like musical chairs in this place.” 

“I know. We’re very lucky.”

“What’d you get this time?” Dean asked as he took the cap off his cup and leaned forward to inspect Cas’s drink.

“It is a flat white.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know? Then why’d you get it?” 

“The advertising got to me. Everywhere I looked in this Starbucks was flat white this and flat white that. Eventually I had to have it.”

“Well taste it.” 

Cas brought the cup up to his lips and took a tentative sip. 

“Well?”

“I’m confident this is a cappuccino.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit Cas”

“Try it. It’s a cappuccino.”

“Give me that. I’ll be the judge of this.” Dean took the drink extended towards him and eyed Cas before taking a sip.

“It is _not_ a cappuccino.”

“It basically is.”

“Sure it tastes like a cappuccino-“

“You admit it then!”

“Hey hold on, you’re jumping the gun buddy. I was going to say, BUT, it's a little different.”

“Give me my cappuccino back.”

“I’m sorry Cas, I’m not holding a cappuccino.”

“Please return my _flat white_ to me.”

“Here you go.” 

They filled the space between them with conversation until it was eight o’clock and Dean needed to head home. 

“Hey what are you doing tomorrow?” Dean asked as he stood up and got his keys out of his pocket.

“Going for a run, having breakfast…therapy at one. I don’t really have any plans.”

“Oh yeah you go on those crazy long runs.”

“Five miles is hardly crazy long.”

“No, that is nuts.”

“You should come running with me." 

Dean blinked dumbly in Cas’s direction. He was sort of taken aback by the suggestion. Dean did not run…like at all.

“I can’t run five miles.”

“But you can run one.”

“Yeah but then you’re gonna be stuck with me slowing you down and stuff.”

“I’m supposed to have a rest day.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas.

 “You dick.” 

“That came out wrong. What I mean is, I don’t mind. Eventually we can work you up to five miles, and then we can run in tandem.”

“Okay, but where are we gonna meet and when, gimme details.”

“My house, and at nine. I like to sleep in on Saturdays.”

“Nine is not sleeping in.”

“It is for me.”

“Where do you live?”

“I’ll text you my address.”

And just like that Dean was going to become a runner. He needed to find his sneakers first—but whatever, if it meant trying something new with Cas, he was down. Cas had a way of making the bad shit seem okay. Hopefully a mile wouldn’t kill him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took FOREVER, but it's long as fuck so enjoy. I think there's going to be more Sam in the future-right now it's a bit Dean and Cas centric. 
> 
> Anyway I love Starbucks and flat whites, so I don't know why I bashed them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back bitches! This is a long one.

“I don’t get it Dean, I’ve been trying to get you to go on runs with me for years!” Sam was more than mystified at Dean’s sudden interest in exercise. Every time Sam so much as went on a walk, his older brother would hit him with some playful insult about counting calories and taking shots of wheat grass. This new endeavor was so spontaneous and unexpected that Dean didn’t even have the proper clothes to work out in. That’s how Sam got involved in the first place—Dean needed his stuff.

“I just wanted to okay. Besides Cas asked me and I felt weird saying no.” That wasn’t true but Dean wasn’t about to get into it with Sam. “Now can I borrow clothes or not?”

“Fine, yes, whatever. I need to see if I have any that will fit you.” 

Dean and Sam ventured into Sam’s room with matching coffee mugs in hand. It was Dean’s day off but not Sam’s, so everyone was up despite it being eight AM on a Saturday.  

“So shorts or pants?” Sam pulled out the drawer where he kept most of his athletic gear then sat in on his hip, took a sip of coffee (because holy shit he could barely keep his eyes open), and gave Dean an expectant look.

“Sam…I don’t _do_ shorts.” 

“Well you don’t run either, but now I can’t even count on that.”

“Pants Sammy, give me pants.”

After some shuffling around Sam whipped out two pairs of pants and tossed them to Dean. 

“I tried to get ones that would fit you but I don’t know…”

Dean wrinkled his brow as Sam trailed off. He unfolded the pants and grimaced at their swishy material and tapered legs. These pants were seriously beyond his sense of style. Why did a person need so many zippers leading to such shallow pockets? What was Sam hiding in his pockets, a single quarter per quad?

“Come on, you don’t have anything Richard Simmons wouldn’t wear?”

“There isn’t a single rhinestone on those pants.”

“Yeah but half your jeans are bedazzled.”

“That was a phase. I don’t even wear those anymore!”

“Just give me sweats or something.”

“I don’t think they’ll fit you.”

“Why not, am I fat or something?”

“No you’re just, you’re so short Dean.”

“…Excuse me?” If there was one thing Dean wasn’t, it was short. Sorry he wasn’t the white Shaquille O'Neal like his brother, but six foot one was above average and Dean was not about to let Sam think that anyone below six four was tiny. Especially if they were tall!

“Dude your nicknames are Sasquatch, Moose, and Gigantor, I’m not short you’re just too tall!”

“I am not!” 

“You always hit your head on the roof of the car, that’s proof.”

“Your car’s too-“ 

“Don’t you dare say anything bad about my car.”

“Fine, jeez. Try on those pants, you can wear your own T-shirt.”

The thin athletic material felt weird on Dean’s legs, but the pants were comfortable, even if he looked ridiculous. Dean wasn’t a stranger to form fitting pants, and it wasn’t like Sam’s pants were leggings, but they were so tight on the ankle and Dean was a strictly boot-cut or straight-cut kind of guy.

“I look like an idiot!”  He shouted as he turned around in front of the mirror to inspect his legs from a few different angles.

“No you look normal.” Sam downed the rest of his coffee because he did not have the energy to deal with fashionisto Dean, who was an altogether new and frightening Dean.

“Look at these pants Sam! I mean who thought this was a good idea!”

“Dean, they actually look good on you. They make your legs look you know, long or whatever. It’s a good cut.”

“No I look ridiculous. Why do you even own these!?”

“Dean! Why do you even care? They’re just pants! Wear them or don’t. This is why shorts would have been better.”

Sam was completely exasperated, but he still hadn’t reached Dean’s level of frustration, which was resulting in a full on pout.  It was pretty weird to see a full-grown man crossing his arms and puckering his lips out angrily.

“You’re going for a run, at the end of it you’re going to look like shit anyway. They’re black pants Dean, no one is going to give a shit.”

Sam’s less than sympathetic answer wasn’t exactly what Dean was hoping for, but at this point, with the clock ticking as it was, he gave in an accepted his tapered leg fate.

“Okay okay”

“Now get out of my room. And don’t forget to stay hydrated.”

Finding his old sneakers ended up being way harder than Dean could have ever imagined. It wasn’t like Dean was completely unathletic; he was great in a fight, strong enough, and really good at throwing shit with impeccable aim, but he didn’t _work out_. He honestly didn’t remember what his sneakers looked like; they were that old. After he spent an uncomfortable amount of time buried under a few dangling shirts in his closet, Dean found his very unstylish, sort of dirty, kind of crushed sneakers. Those things had really seen better days. They were also designed and manufactured way before the cool sneaker movement. Whatever, as long as they stayed on his feet Dean was cool.

“Dean!”

“What!?”

“Can you drive me now!?”

“Yeah!”

_____________________________

 

Cas didn’t live far, but he didn’t live close either. Though they shared the same town, they were miles apart, and Dean couldn’t say he was terribly surprised when turned onto a block of nice manicured lawns and cute triangle roofed houses. Cas wasn’t in the lap of luxury, but his home was way nicer than anything Dean had ever been in.

Dean waved at Cas who was sitting hunched over on a trio of stone steps leading to his door. It was the first time since the hospital that Dean had seen him without his signature trench coat. The tight athletic gear Cas was sporting made Dean gulp, because damn did Cas look like he knew what he was doing. This was going to be humiliating.

The door slammed behind him as he moved to greet Cas. A rush of anxiety pulsed through his body and bit at his stomach making him nauseous.  The only time Dean ran was when something was chasing him. That was it. Period. Recreational running was not his thing and he was going to embarrass himself in front of Cas and his fucking rich neighbors.

A housewife in an exclusively Lululemon outfit pushing a baby carriage sprinted down the street.  Dean’s eyes widened. She had a fucking baby carriage and she was fucking booking it! There was literally a baby carriage going twenty miles an hour and it was attached to something Dean thought existed solely in advertisements. He was so screwed.

“Hello Dean”

“Heya Cas”

“Are you ready for our run?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They stood in awkward silence, staring at each other, both expecting the other to continue the conversation.  Dean’s eyes darted downward and his mouth nearly unhinged it dropped so low. They were wearing the same fucking pants! 

“Dude-“

“Well I-“ 

“Uh”

“Sorry, you go ahead.”

“We have the same pants! Look!” Dean kicked his leg out and smacked the ball of his foot down on the stone step with a pop.

“You’re right.”  Cas’s mouth twitched up in amusement.

“It’s destiny.” 

“Or a coincidence.” 

“Or, _destiny_.”

“Yes, destiny, of course.”

The anxiety began to fade and release.  Cas wasn’t an end all be all remedy, but he eased the pain of everyday life like a human aspirin. Dean was going to need a lot of aspirin when this run was over.

“So Dean, because it is you first run, I suggest a slow conversational pace.”

“What does that mean?” Runner talk was beyond him.

“Try and keep at a pace where you can still talk.”

“You mean if I go too fast I won’t be able to talk!?” 

“Yes.”

“Why do people do this!?”

“No, no, you could still talk even if you were running quickly, it’s just that you’re exerting so much energy it’s difficult and you may only feel like you can get a few words out. We won’t go that fast, you should be able to talk the whole time.”

Dean raised a skeptical brow and twisted his lips uncomfortably. 

“Okay, I’m trusting you here. So if I end up in a hospital, or worse, dead, it’s on you.”

“I’ll make sure to plead guilty in court. Come on, follow me.”

____________________________

 

Cas was a fucking liar! Conversational pace his ass! Dean didn’t even know his body could produce this much sweat. Everything hurt, and he was gasping for air with every sluggish push forward. Meanwhile, his fucking buddy Cas, was some kind of higher being, because he was barely sweating, and casting loaded looks in his direction.

“Are you alright Dean?” The question was totally even; there wasn’t a hint of strain.

“Yeah…hah…just…peachy.”

“We’re almost halfway done.” 

“HALF!?”

“Almost”

This was the end. Dean was dying. The whole world had conspired against him: gravity was harder on him and pushing him into the pavement, his lungs hurt, his heart felt like it was going to explode (and not in the good way), and it didn’t help that his face was heating up and turning red. They were only half way done. How did Cas do five of these a day? HOW? The better question though, was how the hell did Dean end up in this situation? Why did he say yes to torture?

“Push Dean. We’re halfway there. You can make it.”

Oh yeah because Cas asked him to and for some reason Dean decided he would try and get in as much Cas time as possible. Stupid. Cas did look good running though.

Holy shit did Dean just think that? Dean’s pace got quicker as panicked thoughts distracted him from the pain.

He thought Cas was cute. Okay, it wasn’t the first time he’d been interested in a guy, nothing new there but—wait _interested_? Sex appeal and interest were two very different things. Wait, _sex appeal_!? Did Dean want to fuck Cas?! Sure, he liked Cas a lot, but initially the attraction had been platonic. They just hit it off really well, and they could talk in ways Dean couldn’t with other people. That was a valuable relationship that Dean didn’t want to fuck up. He couldn’t have what he had with Cas if they were dating.

But why not? All of Dean’s past relationships had been miserable failures because Dean never felt like he could talk openly. Like actually talk. They’d been about sex, and companionship, but never understanding. Maybe that was why they failed—not because Dean fucked up everything he touched, but because he never felt like he could be himself around the people he dated. Damn, he’d been dating the wrong people. 

“Dean!”

“Huh, yeah?”

“We passed my house." 

“…?”

“We’re done.”

“Oh” Dean slowed down into an awkward trot before stopping completely. That last half of their run had somehow disappeared. Weird.

“So, how was it?”

“Um, good.” After five seconds of stillness, Dean felt like he was going to throw up. “I think I might be dying.” He bent forward and braced his arms on his thighs, breathing heavily. Holy shit, that was tiring. Cas pat his back affectionately, and Dean felt a lighting bolt jolt his spine upright.

“Come on, we need water.” 

Cas’s house smelled like new books. There wasn’t anything glaringly messy, but every once and a while a stray knick-knack or some kind of blanket was out of place. There wasn’t a room that looked like it could be in a magazine, but it was still stylish in a cozy casual way. The house was clean but musty, modern but classic, and very inviting.  Like Cas, it was a mixture of strict and rebellious. Dean liked it.

“Here you go.”

Dean took the water bottle and downed it in one shot. Cas did the same.

“Dude, that was so rough.”

“But you did well. You should be proud of yourself. You really picked up your pace halfway through the run, it was very impressive.”

Dean blushed but tried to deflect.

“Yeah well, I just focused on something other than dying.”

“Ah well, running can be a good way to clear your thoughts.”

Or realize you like the person next to you but whatever, to each their own.

Cas tightened his lips, which were pretty chapped but strangely enticing, and turned his head away from Dean before asking a question.

“Are you hungry?” 

“I’m starving.” And Dean was, he was practically voracious. 

“Would you like to get breakfast…with me?”

Dean smiled and Cas smiled back.

“Yeah, I’ll drive.”

___________________________

 

Diners had the best breakfast. Their run had only taken about twelve minutes, so they arrived early enough to beat the Saturday morning rush.

“I’m so happy you’re not eating a fruit salad.” Dean said as Cas viciously attacked his home fries.

“As am I.”

“I mean my brother is a total health nut—don’t get me wrong he’ll eat good stuff too, but he’s always getting salads and it drives me crazy. We’re men, we need meat and bacon, not lettuce.”

“If you put bacon in salad it becomes bearable.”

“No, then you’re just wasting perfectly good bacon.”

“I won’t argue with that. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“How many times have you been force fed salad?”

Cas put down his fork and stared at Dean with a haunted look in his eyes. “Too many.”

“Jesus”

“How is your food?”

“Fucking delicious. I can’t tell if it’s extra good today, or if I’m so hungry that it tastes like the secret ingredient is love.” Dean shoved a sausage in his mouth.

“It’s because you exercised. Your body needs the energy so the food you consume tastes particularly good.” 

“Do your eggs taste particularly good?”

“They’re indescribable.”

“Is it an orgasm in your mouth Cas?” Dean asked playfully while chewing on his omelet. 

“Hardly, I nearly gag every time someone finishes in my mouth.”

Silence, pure silence. It was like a freeze frame, life had stopped and Dean had paused with his fork half way to his mouth. Cas was looking at him with a horrified expression and Dean’s frozen exterior was the complete opposite of the quickly processing gears turning in his head. 

“Cas are you gay?” Sure girls could come in someone’s mouth too, but their big finish wasn’t all that different from the whole process when you were down there. With guys though, well it was pretty fucking clear when they were done.

“I, yes. I am.” Cas clenched his jaw firmly like he was readying himself for a fight. “Is that a problem?”

“What? No, no.” Dean lowered his voice and leaned forward a little. “I like guys too. I mean I like girls too, but I’ve had sex with guys and stuff, so don’t worry.”

“Oh” Cas seemed incredibly shocked, but also relieved. Dean could understand the feeling. Being anything other than heterosexual could have disastrous consequences around the wrong asshole.

“What, you thought I was gonna hate you for being gay?”

“I don’t know. I’m honestly surprised to hear you’re not straight." 

“Really?”

“Yes, you’re very masculine…not that that should influence a person’s sexuality, I suppose I just assumed.”

“I mean yeah, I just thought you were straight too. But we’re not.”

“No, we both like men.”

“Yup...”

“Indeed...” 

“How did this not come up earlier? I mean we’ve been hanging out a lot.”

“It is strange. I actually don’t know your last name.”

“Shit, you’re right. It’s Winchester. Dean Winchester.”

“Castiel Novak.”

“Well nice to meet ya Novak.” Wait, Novak. Dean’s doctor was a Novak. 

“Hey Cas you have a brother right?”

“Yes, two.”

“Is one of them a doctor?”

“Yes, Michael is.”

That was not a coincidence, no fucking way.

“Dude your brother was my doctor.” And that meant Cas was Dr. Novak’s younger brother with the ‘episodes’.

“Really? He’s a neurosurgeon what did he—oh.”

Dean cast his eyes down onto the table. “Yeah, he uh, he fixed my head when I, yeah.” 

“Was he kind to you?” 

“Yeah, he was a nice guy Cas. We talked about you actually.”

“You did?” Now it was Cas’ turn to be uncomfortable.

“Yeah, he didn’t say your name or anything…but he looked upset so I tried to find out what was wrong and he said something was going on with his brother. Then I met you a day later in a mental hospital.” 

“I see.”

“Are you mad?”

“No. No I’m not mad.”

“…Are you _okay_?”

“Yes Dean. I’m okay. I’m just surprised. It can be such a small world.”

“Yeah I can never decide if it’s too big to care about me or so small it’s suffocating.”

“Yes, that is an apt description.”

____________________________

 

Mondays were trouble. Tuesdays were awful too, and so were Wednesdays and Thursdays, but Fridays and Saturdays could be okay. But not Sundays, Sundays sucked too. Dean liked fixing cars he did, but it was still work and it was tiring. He was dealing with a money pit that was constantly coming into the shop, and honestly he was bored. Instead of focusing on his work his thoughts kept drifting back to his Saturday with Cas, and the information about Cas’s sexuality. It was interesting knowing that they both liked men. They weren’t in a relationship, obviously, and that wasn’t a plan, but it was possible that they could be in a relationship one day, and that knowledge was fucking with Dean. He didn’t know which way was up anymore! Dean sort of liked him, like, _liked_ him liked him, but despite that he liked what they had now. Moreover, Dean wasn’t sure he could handle anymore changes in his life right now. He was constantly fluctuating between feeling okay and feeling like he was a worthless piece shit, so some stability would be nice. Cas wasn’t exactly stable, but where he and Cas stood could be. Nonetheless he missed the guy, and he sort of wanted to talk about this shit with him, which he wouldn’t, but the fact that he wanted to spoke volumes about his trust in the man.

Dean wiped the oil off his hands, took drink of water, and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

 

The self-sabotaging part of Dean’s brain started berating him for extending the invitation. Yeah, he and Cas hung out, kind of a lot, but their relationship was based in going places, not staying home. Sure Dean has been in Cas’s house, but only for ten minutes, so it barely countered. Dinner was also the most romantic meal, except for maybe naked after-sex leftovers (if you could eat cold pizza with someone at 3AM the relationship was doing well), and Dean was worried that he was luring both he and Cas down a romantic path.

Dean was too fucked up to date. He wouldn’t wish himself on anyone, especially someone normal.  How could he possibly connect with anyone when every second he spent with them was a moment of their time wasted? No one wanted to date a guy who needed to take a handful of pills just to get through the day. He couldn’t even spend the night at someone’s house because he needed to take a pill to sleep. Sleeping was supposed to be the easiest thing ever! How was he supposed to explain that to someone?

Cas took pills too though, maybe even more than Dean. The optimistic part of Dean’s brain, which was shy and soft spoken, but getting a little more assertive with each new therapy session, reminded Dean that he and Cas were in profoundly similar situations, despite their differences.  If anything went wrong with Dean, Cas would understand and would be empathetic. Hell he’d probably be helpful, both because he was a psychiatrist, and also a man living with mental illness. Cas probably wouldn’t judge him, no not even probably, he wouldn’t. They met in a friggen mental hospital and they still hung out! Their friendship was based on the fact that they were both fucked up. How could anything come between them if the foundation of their relationship was based on how they both had issues? But while Cas’s dysfunction was attractive, it was also troublesome. Dean could handle a lot of shit, he really could—especially when it was other people’s crap, but that did take a toll on him after a while, and it had gotten him into a dangerous place. Dating Cas might actually fuel his depression. His therapist did tell him that ruminating created serious problems, and it would be easy to ruminate if both he and Cas were in a funk at the same time. Maybe Dean was better off with someone stable, but a stable person most definitely would not be better off with him.

______________________________

“Wait so is this the guy that got you to go on a run?”

“Yes”

Dean placed the pan on the stove with a small clang and reached out for the canola oil. He must have made burgers over a thousand times but he was nervous that he’d fuck it up.

“Are you sure this guy is human?”

“Yes Sam he’s human. Why would you even ask that?”

“He got you to _run_ Dean. That’s either a superpower or a miracle.” Sam leaned on the counter and rolled the red onion as he tried to look casual. “So…”

“Spit it out.”

“Is he the same guy you went on all those coffee dates with?” Sam was failing so hard at being casual. He was the most conspicuous person in the world…except for maybe Dean. No one ever trusted Dean. 

“They’re not _dates_ , we just meet and get coffee and talk.”

“Uh huh…what’s his name again? Cataline? Casteroil? No definitely not Casteroil—“

“Castiel”

“Oh yeah C _as_ tiel.”

“No, Cas _ti_ el.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“No you said C _as_ tiel, it’s Cas _ti_ el.”

“Is that not the same?”

“Sam! No, you put way too much emphasis on the first part when it should be in the middle. Aren’t you like good at Latin? Aren’t you supposed to innately know this?”

“Well I don’t know, it’s not like there are any Romans around to tell me how my accent is! And it’s a weird name okay! If his name was Kevin or or, Blake, I would know where the emphasis was!” 

“Blake?”

“I don’t know.”

“Get me the bacon.”

Sam pushed himself off the ledge, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed the package of bacon. Bacon cheeseburgers—Dean was going all out.

“So Castiel…do you like him?”

“Sammy” Dean was using his mom voice, it threw Sam but it also egged him on.

“Oh come on. You’ve gone on like five dates with the guy!”

“They are not dates!”

“Before when you were explaining them you were describing a _date_! I’m not making fun of you I’m just curious!”

“Curiosity killed the cat Sammy.”

“But satisfaction brought it back.”

“What?”

“That’s the whole saying. In our current era most people have dropped the last half of the saying, which completely alters the intended meaning. So in actuality, the phrase is saying that curiosity is good and worth the risk.”

"You are such a nerd.”

“Come on. Do you think he’s attractive?”

“Can’t I just make dinner in peace?” Dean sighed and flipped the bacon, which was starting to smell really fucking good.

“Come on”

“I, okay he’s hot, yes, are you happy?”

Sam’s smug look indicated that yes, he was indeed happy.

“Are you? Is he nice?”

“We’re not dating.”

“I didn’t say you were, I just asked if he was nice.”

“Yeah he’s nice, I invited him to dinner didn’t I?” 

“I know, and it’s really throwing me off. On the one hand, you’re cooking him dinner, which means you must really like him, but on the other hand, I’m meeting him, and you never let me meet the people you’re seeing. Either you _really_ like him, or you don’t like him at all.”

“Benny cooked me dinner.”

“Benny’s in love with you.”

“S’prolly why the food tasted so good.” Dean removed the bacon and placed them on a covered plate to let the grease drip off, then put the burgers on the pan.

“Have you slept with him?”

“Oh my God Sam!”

“You did!”

“No! No we didn’t have sex! Jesus Sam! We just hang out! We’re not a thing at all, we’re only friends!”

“Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The buzzer went off in their apartment. Cas was downstairs.

“I got it.” Sam trotted into the living room to press the button.

“Sammy you better not bring any of this shit up with Cas! Just leave it alone!”

“Obviously. I’m allowed to harass you, you’re my brother.”

Two minutes later, Dean flipped the burgers, put cheese on them, and heard the knock on the door. He inhaled deeply then went to open it. Sam quickly scrambled and tried to look as natural as humanly possible. He ended up looking completely insane, but Winchesters were never good at fading into the background. 

“Hey Cas, come in.”

“Hello Dean” Cas stepped into the apartment and looked around. For a scary second Dean panicked. Cas had a house all to himself, what if he thought Dean’s little apartment was shitty?

“I like your apartment. It’s very warm.”

“Oh, thanks man.” Dean flashed a smile.

“I understand it is customary to bring wine, or another mild alcohol to a dinner, but knowing both our situations, it seemed like an inappropriate gesture.  I brought a soft drink. It’s Dr. Pepper.” 

“Oh, awesome. I love Dr.Pepper. And don’t worry, pino grigio was never my thing. Let me grab your coat.”

Cas seemed to hesitate but eventually slipped the long overcoat off his shoulders and handed it to Dean. 

“Cas this is my brother Sam. You’re both nerds, so you should get along great.”

Sam burst off the couch and leaned forward to shake Cas’s hand.

“Nice to meet you C _a-_ s _ti_ el.” He almost emphasized the first syllable but fixed it halfway through.

“And you Sam. I’ve heard a lot about you from your brother.”

“Yeah?” Sam side eyed Dean worriedly.

“Don’t worry Sammy, all good things.” 

“Yes Dean seems to admire you a great deal.”

“Um, well dinner’s ready so why don’t we all eat.” 

To say the burgers went over well was an understatement. Both Sam and Cas could barely keep their mouths off of the meat (which was cooked to perfection if Dean did say so himself) long enough to keep a conversation going. Dean’s secret was bacon grease—the best way to liven up meat, was to add more meat. 

“Wait you really haven't seen a single Indiana Jones?” Sam discovered Cas’s lack of cinematic knowledge and was astounded.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Sam, he hasn’t seen _Star Wars_ either.”

“Really? What did you watch growing up Cas?”

Cas pinched his lips as he compiled a list in his head.

“I’ve seen every episode of _Veggie Tales_ , _I Love Lucy_ , _The Andy Griffith Show_ …”

“Is that it?”

“I watched an episode of _Thunder Cats_ once, but my mother found out and I was scolded.”

Sam and Dean exchanged shocked looks, which didn’t go unnoticed by Cas. 

“I had a very sheltered childhood. My parents were very religious, so if we were to watch television it had to be a Christian show.”

“I let Sam watch _The Exorcist_ when he was nine. He slept in my bed for two weeks.”

“Yeah that’s basically negligence Dean! Who lets a nine year old watch _The Exorcist_!?”

“Well it was Christian so it’s okay according to Cas’s family.”

“Cas would your family have let you watch _The Exorcist_ when you were _nine_?”

“No, but I did witness a real exorcism.”

“Are you kidding!?” Dean shouted, leaning over his empty plate.

“Yes, it was terrifying.”

“Did they really scream the power of Christ compels you?”

“No, not that I remember. I was very young. I think it was almost entirely in Latin.”

“Sam you could have helped! Sam knows a Latin exorcism.”

“I really do.” 

“I guess we have him in case something goes wrong.”

Cas looked down but lifted his cheeks in a sad smile. “Yes, you do.” 

“So how about we get you updated on some movie classics?”

“Dean he probably has work tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah if you have to go that’s totally fine.”

“No, I can stay, I’d like to join you for a movie.”

“Awesome, I’ll clean up while you and Sam pick a movie.”

“Come on Cas,” Sam said as he stood up, “Dean has a huge DVD collection. It takes years to sort through.”

“Please, let me help you with the dishes Dean.”

“What? No way man, you’re the guest we can’t have you on dish duty.”

“Yeah Cas it’s fine, Dean’s got it.” 

“No I insist, you cooked me a delicious meal, it’s the least I could do.”

“Well if you really wanna do dishes I’m not going to stop you. Sam go pick out a movie.” 

“On it”

Dean and Cas collected the dishes and brought them to the sink. 

“Sam is very nice.”

“Yeah he’s pretty awesome. I’ll wash you dry?”

Cas nodded and accepted the towel.

“He’s very smart. And you two have an amusing dynamic.”

“Oh yeah? I better watch out, soon you and Sam are going to be off grabbing coffee and going on runs together. I’m going to be replaced.” Dean smiled jokingly and he handed Cas a dish. 

“I doubt that. You and I share a much more profound bond.”

Dean turned to face Cas who was staring at him. 

“Profound huh?”

“Yes.”

Okay, Cas had really nice bone structure. Dean wanted to stare at him all day.

“So you _really_ like hanging out with me?” Dean tried to cut the tension with humor but found himself getting transfixed by the intensity in Cas’s eyes.

“Yes, I greatly look forward to our time together.” Cas’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Dean felt a pull forward.

“You’re sure it’s not just my burgers you’re after?”

“They’re a nice bonus I have to admit.” Cas leaned forward, eyes locked onto Dean’s face, causing Dean to feel an overwhelming need to mirror his movements. A cloud of hot breath ghosted over Dean’s mouth, encouraging his lips to part with anticipation. Cas angled his head as his eyes closed slowly and he moved into the centimeters separating them. Dean closed his eyes and exhaled as he inched in to meet Cas.

“So what do you guys think about _Pulp Fiction_?”

Dean and Cas jerked backwards at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“It’s pretty much a classic so Cas should probably see it.” Sam waved the DVD around while he stood in the kitchen doorway, totally unaware of the almost-kiss he interrupted.

“Yes Sam. That’s fine.” Dean bit out. 

“Do we have any popcorn left?”

“ **No**.”

“Okay, jeez. I’ll pop this in.” Sam walked back into the living room and Dean turned back to his dishes. Sam had totally just cock blocked him. They were about to kiss, and it was going to be natural, and sexy, and fucking awesome, but now it was over, opportunity lost. Dean figured he and Cas just weren’t meant to be. If fate wanted them together Sam wouldn’t have walked in, plain and simple.

“Dean”

“Wha?”

Lips met in a quick sharp kiss that had Dean’s breath hitching in surprise before closing his eyes. Cas pressed into Dean, making him relish in the heat of Cas’s body and the push and pressure of their lips meeting and tasting. Dean brought his hand up to rest on the side of Cas’s face, and deepened the kiss as his thumb rubbed against Cas’s prickly jaw.

No one pulled away, they separated naturally and breathed shallow breathes as their hearts beat quickly. Cas smiled broadly at Dean. Dean smiled back.

Cas didn’t leave anything to fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!!! 
> 
> Anyway, so I was wondering if anyone noticed this or felt any way about it. I do like these long chunks of dialogue without really any detail, because I think it mirrors the rhythm of a real conversation. Are you guys liking that or are you confused about the tone? Let me know if you're into commenting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating went up ;)

“I don’t understand why these men are attracted to fight club.” 

“Cas, you broke the first rule: you don’t talk about fight club!”

How one man could have missed three entire decades of pop culture was the biggest mystery in Dean’s life.  The only way Dean could feasibly explain it, was by concocting some tragic story about how Cas had gotten a serious brain injury when he was three years old and that it put him in a coma for thirty years. Not only had Cas not seen _Fight Club_ , he hadn’t _heard_ of it. It was fucked up. Dean could accept a lot of fucked up shit, but this was too much. Now that he and Cas were more than friends, Dean saw it as his responsibility to catch him up on years and years of lost culture. Sometimes they watched movies at Dean’s house, and sometimes when they wanted their privacy ensured, they went over to Cas’s place. It was one of those nights. 

“I believe that rule only applies to members of fight club.”

“Dude, no. You can’t talk about it. It’s the rules.”

“If we’re not allowed to talk about fight club how would someone arrange for people to meet them to watch _Fight Club_? It’s a preposterous rule. One that you broke, I might add.”

“Cas-“

“Earlier today I distinctly recall getting a text from you that said we were watching-“

“Cas-“

“ _Fight Club_ tonight because it was a classic. Furthermore,” 

“Oh my God you have to stop talking.”

Cas shut his mouth abruptly and hid a childish pout.

“Part of the fun of _Fight Club_ -“

“You said it again Dean!”

“Fuck I know! Part of the fun of _this movie_ is always saying: ‘The first rule of fight club is you don’t talk about fight club’, and then when people talk about it you tell them they can’t talk about it.”

“Why?” Cas was so genuinely confused. It was terribly sad. 

“It’s the unwritten rule of _Fight Club_. It just is.”

“Dean, you broke the first rule of fight club.”

“Oh my God Cas I-“ Dean took in Cas’s smug face with his little crooked smirk and narrowed his eyes once realization dawned on him. “Oh.” Cas was a faster learner than Dean had given him credit for. “You’re such a dick.”

“Can we return to my previous question?”

“Can we watch the movie?”

“Dean?”

“What was your question?”

“Why do these men want to fight each other?”

“It’s cuz like-“ Dean wasn’t a scholar. He didn’t analyze for fun, so he couldn’t confidently say he knew the symbolic meaning behind it, or the literary meaning, but he knew why fighting was attractive to him. “These guys are all losers. Well maybe not, but they all have jobs they don’t like or, they just do the same thing over again and they—hold on. Okay, the main guy, he has insomnia right.”

“Yes. And that was a very accurate description of it in the beginning of the movie.” 

“Yeah it really was. Okay, when you go days without sleeping, it’s like you’re dead even though you’re walking around and stuff right?”

“Yes”

“Well everyone feels that way. These guys _without_ insomnia feel that way. Fighting is them searching for life.”

“But how does fighting achieve that?” 

“I guess it’s because nothing makes you feel more alive than looking death straight in the eye.”

“Do you really believe that to be true?” Cas turned away from the TV and gently reached out to nudge Dean’s side, silently asking for eye contact. 

“I mean yeah.”

“Do you fight to refuel when you’re empty?” 

“I don’t seek out fights, but I’ve been in a shit ton of fights and there is a weird peace in all the violence. It’s primal you know? Like sometimes it can feel like it’s the most natural thing in the world.” 

“I suppose it is. Every second of everyone’s life is a fight, and perhaps that continues on in death. Our very existence _is_ fighting for existence, no matter how far we delude ourselves into thinking otherwise.”

Dean wet his lips with his tongue and dropped his eyes to his hands. He was going to ask something extremely personal, and he didn’t know if it was okay to. 

“But when you…and when I, when you tried to kill yourself, how was that fighting for existence? Wouldn’t it be the opposite? Isn’t that giving up the fight?”

“I-“ Cas returned to the movie, but watched with unseeing eyes. Dean sighed and scrunched up his face in regret and self-loathing. He’d fucked up. He never should have asked.

“As a psychiatrist I shouldn’t be saying this, but I’m going to anyway.”

Dean looked up suddenly and marveled at how tightly Cas’s face was pulled over his emotions.

“For me, suicide was part of the fight.  I felt as though my existence as Castiel, the real me, was being lost. I was a prisoner in my own mind, and in my body, and every moment was unbearable. I cannot adequately describe how truly agonizing it was to be in my own skin.  Sometimes I would tear at myself to see if I could get out, and I never could.  It was a very complicated time because, I existed as a paradox: I was me, and yet I was not. I just wanted to be me and nothing else. But I also hated myself, truly hated…and I thought that if I killed myself I could kill the me that was not me. I was relying heavily on the assumption that when I died I wouldn’t be bipolar. I was also assuming that the person I am when I am manic or depressed, or both at the same time, isn’t me. That might be as erroneous as—Dean? You’re crying.”

“Shaddup, I’m not.” Dean furiously wiped away a tear in the midst of falling from his eye.

“But you are—oh you want me to pretend I didn’t notice.”

“You’re doing a piss poor job of it.”

“Dean, why are you upset?” Cas pinched his brows in both confusion and concern, but was quickly overtaken by the urge to comfort Dean. He reached out to hold him, but before Cas could make contact Dean slapped his hands away. It was unexpected, if Cas’s face was anything to go by. 

“I’m supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around!” 

“Why?”

“Because you felt that way! Because I made you relive it. God Cas how can you, I can’t believe you had to feel like that. It doesn’t even make any sense but I fucking get it.”

“May I please hug you now?”

“Yes, fine.”

Without hesitation Cas embraced Dean, wrapping around him and pulling him close.

“I can’t believe how dumb this is. You’re the one who went through it, but I’m the idiot crying.”

“It’s actually very sweet.”

“What?” Dean’s head snapped up.

“You’re upset that I experienced pain.  I don’t want you to be upset, but I selfishly enjoy knowing you care for me.”

“ ‘Course I care about you, I’m watching _Fight Club_ with you, do you know how many times I’ve seen this movie? This is like the hundredth time!”

“I’m sure it’s a very noble and selfless endeavor.”

“I don’t think killing yourself is part of the fight.”

“Dean?”

“It’s not. Maybe it is if you’re doing it to save someone else’s life because then you’re fighting for them, but it ain’t fighting if it’s for you. I did it because I wanted it to be over. It was a surrender not an attack. You wanted it to be over too; you got so fucked up you were tricked into thinking you were wining.” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. At the time it seemed to make perfect sense. But every convoluted misguided thought made sense.” 

“You know what they say, hindsight and shit.”

“May I kiss you now?”

“Ugh don’t ask.”

“…Um” 

“Yes Cas, yes.”

They met each other at the mouth, and it was just as good as the first twenty kisses.  

“Are you feeling any better now Dean?”

“A little. I think the kiss helped.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, hold on gimme another.” 

Dean pulled Cas in, grasping both sides of his face in his hands. Cas tasted a little like popcorn—probably because he ate half a gallon of it—and fuck if it wasn’t sexy in the most unsexy way possible. 

“Oh yeah, it definitely helps.”

“Wait Dean…I’m feeling vulnerable too. I might require another kiss…”

“You are not smooth at all.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh huh”

“Quickly Dean I’m feeling faint!”

“Okay here’s the strong stuff.” 

Cas was on him before Dean could blink. He smiled into the kiss, flattered that Cas wanted him so badly. Cas was a good kisser, mostly because he was a versatile one. From sweet, to yearning, to downright hungry, he could change the tone instantly, and it left Dean dizzy but curious to see what else Cas had up his sleeve.  

Drunk with the feeling of Cas sucking on his tongue, Dean shut his eyes as the kiss broke and a pair of inquisitive lips journeyed down his throat.

“Ah”

“Mm” Cas scrapped his teeth against the side of Dean’s neck where the muscle jutted out.

“Cas” 

“Hmm?”

“We’re missing _Fight Club_.”

“Shh, you’re not supposed to talk about it.” He’d taught him too well.

“Okay but we are watching it eventually.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

Whether it was because he was on his way there already, or that within the context that phrase could take on a more sensual meaning, Cas’s words went straight to his dick.  Fuck _Fight Club_ , Dean was busy. In a fluid motion Dean kicked his leg over to straddle Castiel.  Everyone seemed pretty happy with their new position. Dean looked down at Cas with his patented Dean Winchester smirk, and he swore he saw him gulp. Cas’s hands slid up Dean’s thighs and onto his hips as Dean dipped down to take his lips. They were hungrier now, no longer sad about their shared emotions, but eager to make each other feel good.

The scent of Cas’s aftershave was like a breadcrumb trail leading Dean along his jaw and behind his ear. It was strange how certain things about a person became arousing once you knew them long enough. Cas lowered his hands down the dip in Dean’s spine then grabbed his ass with both hands. He gave it a squeeze and moaned quietly when Dean took the fleshy part of his earlobe between his teeth and tugged. 

“That feels good.”

Dean smiled to himself smugly then ran his tongue along the shell of Cas’s ear before returning to bite at the same spot again. Cas squirmed under him and Dean laughed a little, because seriously, who knew ears could be so sensitive?

So far they’d made out a lot and felt each other up, but that was pretty much the extent of it. They’d only been like “together” for a week, so it wasn’t crazy that they weren’t going at each other all the time, but it _was_ time to amp it up a little. They were both adults, and they were both hard as rocks. Knowing that he was the bolder of the two of them, Dean knew it was up to him to make the first move.

“You want me to suck your dick?”

Cas shivered as Dean’s hot breath warmed the wet spots on his ear.

“Yes”

Like Dean had to ask. He slid off the couch and onto his knees, getting harder himself at the thought of going down on Cas. Dean took a deep breath as he unzipped Cas’s fly. He’d felt Cas’s dick through his pants before, but he’d never actually seen it. To some extent a penis was a penis, but it would be awesome if Cas had a nice dick.

Dean looked up and his mouth twitched into a crooked smirk when he caught Cas watching him. God did he look hot, with his dark hair a mess and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Dean spread Cas’s thighs and wiggled in between them. It was the moment of truth: he reached into Cas’s pants and freed his dick from the black underwear. Cas’s erection bobbed up to hit his stomach. He _did_ have a nice dick. Not too big not too small, but just right.

Dean gripped the base of Cas’s cock tightly then gave the head an experimental lick. A little bead of clear precum appeared just as Dean lifted his tongue off the tip. It was like Cas's dick was asking him to come back. He swallowed what he could and hummed when his lips met his knuckle. Cas moaned above him. Dean bobbed up and down, setting an even and unhurried rhythm that had Cas panting and squeezing Dean’s sides with his thighs. Once Dean felt confident, he peaked up to see Cas flushed, openmouthed, and looking down at him with hazy half lidded eyes. It was suddenly hard not to squirm in his too tight jeans. Cas carded his hands through Dean’s hair and gasped when Dean sucked him just right. Dean could feel him vibrating on either side of him when he slid his mouth off Cas’s cock with a wet smack. 

“Do you have a condom?” Dean asked with Cas’s dick still held firmly in his hand. He could finish Cas off, but Dean wanted to fuck, badly. 

“Yes”

It had Dean undoing his zipper and shimmying out of his pants. 

“They’re in my bedroom.”

“Come on.”

Everything was suddenly very urgent. Every second it took to get to the bedroom was a second too slow. Time couldn't keep up with Cas and Dean as they stumbled hurriedly down the hallway, pulling at each other’s clothes playfully.

“They’re in here somewhere.” Cas tore through his top drawer, ripped a condom off the pack, then chucked a bottle of lube on the bed. It hit Dean in the stomach as he was tearing off his clothes.

“Ow!”

“What!?”

“Dude you hit me with the lube.”

“I’m sorry.”  Cas crawled onto the bed and kissed up Dean’s stomach.  He helped Dean remove his boxer briefs then flung them onto the ground.

“Come’re, help me get your clothes off.” They undressed Cas together and took a moment to admire each other’s bodies.

“So that’s what the rest of your tattoo looks like.” With a little hesitation, Cas placed his hand on the top Dean’s chest and stroked the center of the pentagram with his thumb.

“Like it?”

“Yes”

Dean inched forward on his knees and pressed their chests together. Their skin was hot and Cas was sweaty.

“Dean, just so you know, I’m a top.”

“Oh”

“Is that a problem?”

It might be. In every same-sex encounter Dean had had, and there were many, he’d always been the top. It wasn’t like he’d demanded to top, it had just been expected of him. For some reason he didn’t attract many tops. Honestly Dean had nothing against bottoming; the guys he fucked always seemed to have a good time, and he was curious, but he was also a little nervous.

“No, I’ve just, I’ve never bottomed before.”

“If you don’t want to do anal it’s okay with me, we can just do something else.”

“No, no I don’t have a problem with bottoming.  You’ll be slow right?" 

“Of course.”

Cas smiled at him and Dean felt his chest fill with anxiety. In theory everything would go over well. People bottomed all the time, it wasn’t magic, and Dean could do it too. He had a great ass and he knew it, Cas would be lucky to nestle up in there.

“Relax Dean”

Everything would be fine, and Dean would have fun. That’s what he kept telling himself.

Cas leaned forward so that Dean had to lean back and fall onto the bed.

“Let me know if you’re ever uncomfortable. We’ll take everything at your pace.”

“Okay” Cas was sweet and all, but he was also making Dean feel like a sixteen year old girl about to lose her virginity.

The way Cas kissed down his stomach relieved some of the nervous tension. Dean closed his eyes and moaned deeply when Cas licked a stripe up his erection and palmed at his balls. He spread his legs apart to give Cas more room and was rewarded when Cas sucked one of his balls into his mouth. That he could get used to.

Dean opened his eye when he heard the lube bottle uncap.

“I’m just going to check your hole." 

“Okay”

Dean took a deep calming breath and relaxed his whole body when he felt Cas’s finger nudge at his entrance and then push in. He’d had plenty of fingers in his ass before, and he liked getting fingered, but for some reason the whole prospect of having a dick inside him had him on edge. Cas wiggled around inside and Dean bent his knees and lifted his hips a little to give him better access.

“You can go deeper.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, that’s good.” The pressure in his dick was getting too hard to ignore, so Dean reached for his erection and gave it a few lazy strokes.

“Can I put another one in?”

“Yeah” Dean’s voice was airy; no doubt a result of his quickening heart rate. “That feels good Cas.” He arched his back against the fingers in his ass and pulled on himself a little harder.

Do you like that Dean?”

“Ah, yes. Go to the side a little.”

“Like this?”

“A little mor-ah!” A sudden jolt had Dean seizing up with a sharp cry. “Fuck, again!”

Completely happy to comply, Cas pressed against Dean’s prostate and felt a tingle at the tip of his dick when Dean jerked and moaned loudly. 

“God I want to fuck you so badly. Turn around.” 

Dean rolled onto his stomach and got onto his knees when he felt Cas lift him up by his hips. When nothing happened Dean cocked his head around to see what was going on. ‘

“What’re you doing?” 

Cas was sitting up jerking himself off as he tilted his head and stared at Dean’s ass.

“I’m just taking it in. Lean forward a little.”

Brows furrowed in confusion but Dean leaned into his forearms causing his hips to tip up and back. A slow moan from behind had Dean blinking in surprise.

“You like looking at my ass?”

“Yes”

“You like seeing how it’s here for you, all open and waiting for you to fuck it?”

“Yes”

“You wanna fuck me Cas?”

“ _Yes_ ”

“How bad do you wanna fuck me?” So bad Cas didn’t even respond. He grabbed Dean’s hips and jerked them backwards. Dean gasped as Cas’s tongue licked up his taint and into his crack. 

“Oh fuck, Cas. Ah, that feels good.” A surge of heat pooled in Dean’s groin and suddenly the absence of sensation of his cock was unbearable. He jacked himself off quickly as Cas’s tongue lapped at his hole and his hands spread his cheeks so that he could suck around it.

Dean wanted to be fucked. With every tug at his cock, and every hot wet lick at his hole, his desire to be opened up and filled with Cas’s dick grew. He pushed back against Cas’s face then thrust into his hand jerkily.

“Shit, ugh, Cas put it in. Fuck me.”

“Shit. Hold on. You’re not loose enough.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Give me your cock.”

“No, Dean it will hurt. Hold on.” 

The two fingers returned and Dean leaned into them. Instead of searching for his prostate, they spread apart and thrust in to try and make room. Dean dropped his head and closed his eyes as a third finger wriggled in. It burned a little, actually a lot, and for the first time Dean was uncomfortable. The pain was easily tolerable. Cas moved around inside of him and soon the sharp pain turned into a dull ache.

“Okay?”

“Mmhm” It hurt but the stretch on the outermost edge of the muscle where Cas’s knuckles were felt good. Dean tried to focus on the feel of his dick in his hand, but every once and while Cas would move in a way that caused his whole body to tense up, and that made everything worse.

“That’s as loose as I can get it.” Cas put as much lube on his finger as he could manage then slipped it back into Dean’s ass. The condom wrapper opened with a tear. Dean took a deep breath and tried to get it to move through his whole body.

Cas nudged forward and held onto Dean’s hip as he lined his dick up.

Dean squeaked when the tip of Cas’s dick slipped into him. He grit his teeth when the pressure kept coming, forcing him open.

“I’m halfway in.”

HALF? Only half!?

The pain was no longer easy to ignore.  Every millimeter of length felt like a mile, but Dean was determined to get all of Cas in.  This was their first time having sex together and he wanted it to be good. He was getting a dick shoved inside of him, of course it was going to hurt, but it would stop eventually and then it would feel good. But it didn’t feel good. It hurt like hell and his face was turning red. 

Cas moaned lowly, and it was hot as fuck, but Dean couldn’t appreciate it because he felt like he was being ripped open by a baseball bat. 

“You’re so tight Dean.” 

“Are you in?”

“Yes”

“Don’t move.” Dean needed a fucking minute to adjust.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes” Dean said it too quickly. “I just need a second.”

Cas’s hips pulsed behind him and Dean could tell Cas was trying very hard to stay still. Dean knew what Cas must be feeling—engulfed in heat, dying to fuck into him—and Dean wanted to accommodate him, because he really wanted to make Cas feel good, but it just hurt so bad. 

This wasn’t fair. Dean was supposed to be good at sex; he’d never had any complaints before, so why was he failing so tremendously? Cas was a top and Dean wanted to be his bottom, so he needed to get it together and play the part right. People took cock like this all the time, and it was pissing Dean off that he couldn’t. 

“Move” He shouldn’t have said it. It hurt just to have Cas static inside him. Cas thrust in once and Dean’s body locked up. 

“Stop stop!”

“Okay” The edge of panic in Cas’s voice made Dean feel like shit. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. They should have been on their way to ecstasy already.  Dean was supposed to be being fucked into the mattress as Cas came undone above him. Dean was supposed to come untouched, just from a dick in his ass, and they were supposed to cuddle up afterward in the wake of amazing orgasms. Instead they were stopping because Dean couldn’t bear the pain. Because Dean couldn’t do anything right.

“Pull out.”

Cas did immediately.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

Instead of answering Dean sat up and kicked his legs off the side of the bed. He braced his elbows on top of his thighs and hid his face in his hands. This fucking sucked.

“Dean?” Cas sat next to him and placed a hand between his shoulder blades. Dean hated how comforting Cas was—Dean didn’t deserve kindness, he was the one who fucked up. He couldn’t even have sex right. 

“Did I hurt you?”

Dean lifted his head out of his hands and exhaled as his fingers dragged down his face.

“Please answer me. Are you hurt? Did I do something?” 

“No. I’m okay.”

“What happened?” 

“I couldn’t fucking do it. I wasn’t tough enough okay? I fuckin’—I fuckin’, ugh.” 

“Did you not like it or did it hurt?” 

“…It hurt okay! I’m a weak son of a bitch and I couldn’t push through it." 

“Oh Dean. Come here.”

“No” 

Cas sighed and wrapped an arm around Dean’s back then pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It is. You were really tight, I should have known I would hurt you.”

“Don’t try and spin this so you’re the bad guy. I’m the one who couldn’t handle sex. Fucking sex!”

“Dean it was your first time bottoming. It’s not like being a top where all you need it a penis and some lube…Does it still hurt?”

“No”

“Thank God…Don’t be upset.”

“Why not? I mean we were supposed to fuck but I screwed it up.”

“Are you feeling inadequate?” 

“What?”

“Dean, this is normal. The reason I top isn’t because I prefer it necessarily, it’s because I’ve never been able to relax enough to bottom. I’ve told people to pull out as soon as they got the head in.”

“I don’t get it though. Your fingers felt good. And everything up to it was, was awesome.”

“Yes, you give very good head.”  

“Yeah well, that’s not exactly good enough.”

Cas hugged Dean one handedly and kissed the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“It was just one time Dean. If you want to try again we can try again. If you never want to try again we can do other things. What did you like the most, before I put it in?”

“…When you ate me out.”

“Do you want me to eat you out right now? Just because we can’t do anal doesn’t mean we have to stop having sex.”

“No, I’m not in the mood anymore.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to, you have a beautiful ass.”

“I’m gonna head home I think.” 

Cas straightened up.

“You don’t have to. You can stay.”

“Nah, Sammy’s probably home from work wonder'n where I am.” 

“Okay. Do you want me to give you some clean clothes?” 

“No I’ll just wear what I got, it’s okay.” 

“Okay”

It seemed to take years for Dean to collect his scattered clothing and get dressed. Even Cas got dressed, though he opted to wear a clean set of pajamas, an option Dean refused.

“Text me when you arrive home.” 

“Yeah okay.” Dean stepped out the door but stopped short when Cas grabbed his wrist. 

“What?”

Cas leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. The corner of Dean’s lips twitched up in recognition, but not from any semblance of happiness.

 

_____________________________

 

The drive home was lonely.  Solitude was Dean’s enemy, and yet he chose it over a few more hours of Cas’s company. Sometimes Dean felt like he was doomed to repeatedly screw himself over. Maybe he should have stayed over, it’d probably feel better than this. Hopefully Sam had a good day.

Dean locked the impala and let himself into the building. The florescent light in the elevator flickered and buzzed, humming like an annoying fly that was too quick smack and kill. If only Dean could kill this night. It would have saved him a lot of embarrassment.

He fished for his keys and put his hand on the doorknob. It was unlocked. That was unusual. Dean’s senses were on high alert. Sam always locked the door and Dean knew that he’d locked it when he left. 

The lights were off in their apartment. 

“Sammy?” Dean squinted and kept the door open so he could use the hallway light. “Sam?” In the corner of their living room, passed the couch and near the kitchen, Sam was hunched over on the ground with his head between his knees.

“Sammy what the hell?” Dean closed the door and turned on the lights. “What’re you doing…Are you high?” No no no, Dean could not deal with this. He thought they were done with this shit.

“No” 

Dean moved forward and approached Sam slowly. Just because Sam said he wasn’t high, didn’t mean he wasn’t.

“But I want to be Dean. So bad.” A broken sob erupted from Sam’s crumpled form, and Dean immediately reverted into his role as parent.

“What happened Sammy?” He slid down the wall and rubbed his brother’s back in soothing circles.

“I was finishing my shift at the bar, and it was right there Dean. These two guys were making a deal in the back, and it was right there. I wanted it so bad Dean.” 

Dean closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He needed to lock his shit down because Sam needed him and this was more important than anything else going on in his life. 

“Shh it’s okay Sam.” Dean wrapped his brother up in a hug, and suddenly he was ten again and Sam wasn’t a giant but his tiny little brother who was hungry and scared and waiting for their dad to come back from a bender. “You didn’t do it though…did you?” 

“No, no I didn’t do it.”

“Then it’s okay. Everything’s okay. You know how proud of you I am? I’m so fucking proud Sammy.” Sam cried harder and Dean knew there was more to the story. 

“Dean I-I-“

“It’s okay Sam, you can tell me.”

“I…I bought a bag.”

The air left Dean’s lungs and the world punched him in the stomach. 

“Did you use?”

“No”

“Sammy, _did you use_?” 

“No, I swear.”

“You’ve sworn a lot of things. Let me see your eyes. Sam, let me see ‘em.”

Sam lifted his head and wiped at his cheeks and eyes with the back of his hand. Sam’s eyes were blotchy and red, but only from crying, not from ruby.

“Okay. Give me the bag.”

Sam hesitated. 

“Give me the drugs, _now_.”

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of red crystals.

“Dammit Sam”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Is this it?”

“Yes”

“Sam”

“It is I promise Dean!”

“Come on, get up.”

Sam rose with a sniff and followed Dean into the hall. 

“Flush it Sam.” He threw the baggie into the toilet and turned his attention towards Sam expectantly. Sam bit his lip then broke into a sob that pounded against Dean’s heart. The grumble of the flush resonated against the cheaply tiled floor and Sam dropped to his knees, unable to stand as he cried into his hands.

 “It’s okay Sam, you didn’t do it.” 

“But I almost did Dean! I almost used. I was so close, I was so close.”

“Shh” 

“I was so close.”

“It’s okay Sam.” Dean dropped to the floor and cradled Sam’s head against his chest. 

“What if I did? What would’ve happened? I was so close Dean.”

“It’s not gonna happen. I’m not gonna let it.”

They sat on the bathroom floor, a crumpled mess of limbs and tears, for another hour. Eventually Sam tired himself out and they both trudged to bed, broken and raw.

Dean rubbed his eyes then twisted the cap off his sleeping pills. He stared at the label. If he wanted to, he could kill himself. It’d be really easy too. He could just take the whole bottle of pills. Sam would be asleep, so by the time anyone found him it’d be too late. 

Dean poured half the bottle into his hand. 

The buzz in his pocket momentarily distracted him from the pills in his hand. Dean tipped his hand so all the pills slid back into the orange tube. He took his phone out of his pocket.

  

Dean stared at the little letters on the screen. He stuck his finger in the bottle and fished out two pills. Dean swallowed the pills and put the cap back on the bottle. Death was too permanent. He’d settle for sleep for the time being.

 

 

                                                                                               


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like half of this chapter is Dean running errands. Also these are getting so long!

Some things you just never expect to do. Like go on a run with Sam before work. Running with Cas had been bad, but running with Sam was actual torture. No only was Sam too fucking fast, but his strides were three times the size of Dean’s.  It didn’t help that Sam was too wired to bring it down to a ‘conversation pace’. Eight hours later and Dean was still recovering. The lengths he would go to to help his little brother out sometimes startled even Dean himself. Sam seemed to really enjoy the company, even if Dean almost died three minutes in.   

Dean also never expected he’d be on Sam’s laptop reading countless blogs about bottoming. He couldn’t believe this was his life. Who knew there was so much preparation involved!? After scouring the comments section of every gay health article he could find, Dean was starting to feel a little better about yesterday’s sexual fuck up. He wasn’t alone. It was comforting, but Dean never thought of himself as the rule, he was the exception and he was supposed to do it all. The ugly part of his brain told him he should have been able to take Cas’s cock no problem, despite the fact that he hadn’t adequately prepared. Dean was feeling hopeful though, and for once he was taking a page out of Sam’s book: he was researching.

The basic gist of the information he was getting, was that he needed to start sticking more shit up his ass. Apparently he needed to get an enema too, but that seemed like a lot of work and Dean didn’t know if he could explain why he was shooting water up his ass if Sam ever found it. He couldn’t explain having a butt plug either—but Dean figured if Sam stumbled upon that, well at least it was pretty self-explanatory. Basically Dean needed to buy a bunch of shit he didn’t have. He wasn’t an adventurous masturbator, so sue him. All he needed was a magazine and his hand; it’d been doing the trick for years.

“So get this-” 

Dean exed out of the window and slammed the laptop closed. Sam could be stealthy as fuck sometimes.

“Ellen’s daughter came into work today—Ew Dean were you looking at porn?”

“No!” 

“Then what were you looking at that you didn’t want me to see?”

“Who says I didn’t want you to see? What was your story? What’s going on with Ellen’s daughter?”

“Yeah so-”

Crisis averted.

“-Ellen’s daughter comes in and she’s pretty cute so I started talking to her, and eventually we started looking through my phone to find a picture of that dog I ran over-“

“Did that dog ever get adopted?”

“Yeah by the vet actually. So anyway, she sees a picture of you and she says she thinks she knows you. So I say that’s my brother Dean, and she says she definitely knows you. But she’s like twenty or something so I doubt it’s because you’re friends with her, or worse slept with her. Do you know a girl named Jo Harvelle?”

Jo Harvelle, Jo Harvelle…why was it so familiar but so elusive?

“I don’t think so-oh shit.”

“What?”

“Yeah I know her, kind of.” 

“How do you know her?”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you.” If Sam was working with her, Dean wasn’t sure he should spill Jo’s personal information.

“What do you mean? You tell me everything.”

“That’s not true. I don’t tell you _everything_.”

“Your therapist said we were codependent.”

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean I tell you _everything_!”

“Come on Dean! Just tell me." 

“Fine. But you can’t let her know that you know.”

“Wait, is this something illegal?” 

“Sam n-“

“Because I won’t say anything.” Well at least it was good to know Sam had his back. Now Dean knew who to call when he had a body to burn.

“No it’s not illegal. I met Jo in the hospital…you know, the head one.” 

“Ohhhh”

“Yeah oh. Don’t let her know you know. She might not want people to know that kind of shit.”

“Ok I’ll keep it a secret. The hospital huh?” 

“Yeah, we hung out a few times. She was cool, not too crazy.”

“Wow, small world.” 

“You’re tell’n me.”

Now that their pleasant trivialities were over, it was time to switch gears and get serious.

“So did you call Benny?” 

Sam visibly tensed.

“No, not yet.”

“When are you gonna see him?”

“Maybe in two days. We’re supposed to go biking.”

“Don’t you think you should call him?” 

“I-yeah probably. But I just don’t want to tell him, he’ll be so disappointed.” 

“Sammy, Benny’s going to understand, he’s been through all this shit before too. That’s _why_ he’s your sponsor.” 

“I know but this was such a big fuck up Dean. Benny’s like a rock you know, he’s been sober for forever.”

“Dude, he’s not gonna be mad, you’re supposed to talk to him when this stuff happens. And he’s a hell of a nice guy.” 

“I’m going to see him in a few days why do I have to call?”

“Do you want me to call him?” 

“Come on Dean, you’re not my mom.”

Actually Dean was pretty sure he was but whatever.

“Yeah obviously, but I can let him know what’s going on so you know, you guys can talk about it when you meet up.”

“You’re just going to call him anyway, even if I say no.”

“What, no.” Sam was right, how did he figure out Dean did that?

“Benny chronicles every interaction he has with you. I always know when you guys talk. You better tell him you’re seeing Cas, if he finds out on his own he’s going to die.” 

“I am not _seeing_ Cas.”

“So that hickey magically manifested after you went to his house?” 

“How do you know it was from him?”

“Dean, all you guys do is stare at each other. You guys have these like silent grand professions of love.” 

“We do not.”

“Yes you do! It even happens when I’m _in the room_. Just kiss already, spare us people who are just trying to grab the Cheetos.” 

“I knew you were eating all my Cheetos! I thought you said you weren’t eating simple carbs!”

“I lied okay! I’m sorry that I love Cheetos! They’re corn puffs covered in cheese Dean!”

“But they were _my_ corn puffs covered in cheese!”

“If you buy Cheetos I’m going to eat them. You know I love fake cheese.”

“No you love salad and protein shakes.” 

“No I love that they’re healthy, really I want the Cheetos. That goes for the poofs too.”

“They’re puffs Sam. How can you say you love them when you don’t even know their name!?”

“Well I do! I fucking love cheese puffs okay! I said it!” 

“You owe me a bag of Cheetos.” 

“I have to pee.”

“Go pee you thief.”

That attempt at a serious conversation got seriously derailed. Sam’s resolve wasn’t nearly as unshakeable as Dean thought, which wasn’t good considering his near relapse last night. Someone had to call Benny, and if Sam wasn’t going to do it Dean had to. He scrolled through his contacts and hit Benny’s name.

“There he is.”

“Hey.”

“How you been Dean? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yeah I’ve been busy. You know how it is.”

“So you just calling to say hello or…”

“Uh no, actually. Sam uh...”

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I came home yesterday and Sam was crying because he, he bought drugs.”

“Did he use them?”

“No, he was just holden’ onto them I think. I don’t know. He gave ‘em to me and I got rid of them.”

“Good, it’s not good news, but it ain’t as bad as him using again.” 

“Is he gonna use?”

“Relapses happen.” 

“I know but how many times is he gonna relapse? I thought we were doing well a while back but then he was back on blood. I just don’t want us to have to go through it again.”

“Well good news is he told you about it and he didn’t take the drugs. That’s progress right there.” 

“But is it? Is it really?”

“Sure it is. Just watch him like a hawk but don’t treat him like he’s a kid. He’s your little brother but putting him in time out’s gonna make it worse.” 

“Okay, thanks man. Keep an eye on my brother, okay.”

“I will. I’ll talk to him. Listen, I know I’m Sam’s sponsor, but if you ever need to talk Dean I’m happy to listen. I got a new pie recipe and no one loves my pie like you do.” 

“…What kind of pie?”

“Pecan”

“Shit. I might take you up on that offer.” Benny made some good fucking pies. 

“Door’s always open.”

“Okay, I gotta go. I’ll call you if anything happens." 

“Alright, see ya brother.”

“What’d Benny say?”

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Dammit Sam! Stop sneaking up on me! You’re like a freaken ghost!” 

“What’d he say?” 

“Just that I shouldn’t be hard on you and that he would talk to you. He’s also got a new pecan pie recipe.”

“You know he’s just trying to lure you in with pie right?”

“Well it’s working.”

 

______________________________

 

It often felt like the world conspired against Dean. There was overcast but Dean needed to wear sunglasses because he was too fucking embarrassed to walk into this sex shop and buy himself a goddamn butt plug. Now he just looked even more conspicuous; he was wearing sunglasses on a day with no sun. This was some serious bullshit. Today had been full of bullshit. He’d bought a pack of enemas at the drug store, but the stupid self-checkout machine freaked out on him and the teenage employee judged him severely when he came to fix the machine.

Fuck these sunglasses! He was a man and he could walk into a sex shop proudly! Okay he was in. There was a lot of nudity, everywhere: not on the people but on like pictures and stuff. Nudity was fine, that was okay. Dean quickly ducked into one of the aisles and found himself surrounded by packages of lingerie. Rhonda Hurley would have a field day putting all this shit on him. Seeing as Dean wasn’t currently in the market for nipple tassels, he meandered down another aisle and came face to face with a wall of vibrators. Holy shit. Discomfort set in instantly. This was his life now so he needed to suck it up. Or rather, stick it up. As…interesting as the vibrators were, they weren’t what Dean was looking for. He walked down twenty feet and found the butt plugs. They were next to the gay porn. Well wasn’t that presumptuous. 

Dean crossed his arms as his cheek pulled up in displeasure. He had no fucking idea what he was doing. There were too many kinds of butt plugs, and there were too many colors. Was there like a starter pack? Why were there so many colors? Dean just wanted something simple and understated.

“Hi do you need any help or—Dean?”

Nooooooooooooooooooo! Who the fuck knew him and who was witnessing him shop for butt plugs!? It was like a fucking movie and this was the slowmo cut of Dean’s death scene. Dean turned around stiffly, prepared for the absolute worst.

“Charlie?”

“That’s me.”

“What the, what’re you doing here?”

“I work here.”

“Seriously?” 

“Well part time, but yeah.”

Dean couldn’t tell if he was mortified or relieved. Maybe he was a little bit of both. More importantly, why was he running into everyone from the hospital!? Sam had brought up Jo just the other day.

“Um, well, how ya been?”

“Uh, good. Better since that last time you saw me.” Charlie smiled at him and Dean could tell she was nervous too.

“Hey nice shirt.” Dean gestured to her pop art storm trooper t-shirt. 

“Oh thanks…so you’re in the market for a sex toy?”

“Uhh”

“Come on, I’m not going to judge. Need any help?”

The crazy thing was that he sort of did. Dean just wasn’t sure he could make himself actively talk about it.

“I um. Yeah.” 

“What’re you looking for?”

“I need…a butt plug.”

“Wow kinky, that’s cool. Do you have a certain type in mind?” 

“No I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“So what are you using it for? You just want to wear it around or?”

“I actually, um I’ve never really had anything…up there, you know?”

“Oh, so something small.”

“Just something to stretch it out.”

How comfortable Charlie was when they talked about sex toys was making this experience infinitely easier. She made it seem like they were picking out a movie instead of a plastic thing to shove up his ass.

“Try something like this.” She reached up and pulled a manageable looking black plug off the wall. “But you know, if you’re trying to get used to having stuff in there, you might want to get a dildo or a vibrator too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah it’s shaped more like, well a penis.”

“Oh okay, I guess we should look at those?”

“Yeah follow me.”

They were back at the wall of vibrators.

“So with dildos you can get them with balls or without. Any preference?” 

“I don’t know.” He’d never thought about fake balls before.

“So the dildo’s will you know, be dildos, but the vibrators are more fun. This one’s really popular. It’s got a few different settings, you can change them with these buttons.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll get um, the butt plug and the…vibrator.” Seriously this was his life. He was buying a vibrator.

“Cool”

Charlie rung him up and Dean held in a laugh while he watched a group of girls giggling and whacking each other with giant dildos. Those girls had the right idea. Sex was supposed to be fun; he didn’t know why he was so embarrassed. Dean paid, and whoa vibrators were expensive.

“Okay well, see ya around Dean!”

Dean twisted his lips as he shifted his weight. It was a weird time to do this, but it wasn’t like he had another opportunity. 

“Hey Charlie, I know it’s weird asking this…here, but you remember Cas from the hospital?”

“Oh yeah, crazy Cas.”

“Yeah, crazy Cas. Well he’s not so crazy anymore, and we’ve been hanging out and watching a bunch of good movies. Stuff you’d like. I just wanted you to know that if you wanted, you could get in on movie night.” 

“What movie are you guys watching next?” 

“Well he’s never seen _The Lord of the Rings_.”

“I’m in.”

“Just like that?”

“I never say no to Tolkien, ever. What’s your number?”

______________________________

 

So many unexpected firsts so little time. Dean had only ever been in this area of the next town over once. It was upscale, clean, and full of shit he usually had nothing to do with. There was a place solely for waxing. How could someone run a business based on ripping hair out of people!?

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

 

Cas seriously needed to get emojis on his phone.

Dean walked through the doors to the waxing salon, sunglasses _on_. Now that he was set to see Cas tomorrow it was pertinent he go through with what would probably be one of the more degrading things he'd done in his life. 

“Hi sir how can we help you?”

“Hi I uh, I have an appointment. It’s,” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Dean Winchester.”

Picking up on his discretion the woman behind the desk kept her voice at a whisper. 

“So we’ll be waxing your bikini area?”

First of all Dean was pretty sure he didn’t have a bikini area. He’d never worn a bikini and he didn’t have any plans to in the future. It was better than saying you’re here to wax your balls though.

“Yeah”

“Okay head to the back, second door on your left.” 

It felt like he was walking to the gallows. The whole place smelt a little too fragrant and it didn’t help that Dean felt more like he was being held captive than choosing to do this himself.

“Hi I’m Andrea I’ll be doing your wax today. Is this your first wax?”

Okay whoa, this woman got right to the point.

“Yeah. Still kind of can’t believe I’m here.”

“Well don’t be afraid. There are actually a few styles to pick from.” Seemingly out of nowhere, Andrea whipped out a page full of animated crotches with different styles of pubic hair scribbled on them. Okay some of these were too creative, and Dean did not want to part with all his hair. He needed that shit. 

“I don’t really want to lose like, the top part you know? I just want that part to be…clean? But the bottom stuff like under, um…”

“The perineum”

“Yeah, and the um…” 

“The butt”

“Yeah, that can go.”

“Okay don’t worry. We’ll tidy up the front and get rid of the back. Take off your pants and lay on the table.”

This was seriously awkward. Dean was lying pants-less on a table, with one leg bent (as per Andrea’s instructions), and a towel over his junk.

“Okay ready?”

“Yeah” He couldn’t believe he was doing this. The first patch of hair ripped off with a tear of the paper. Oh, that wasn’t so bad after all.

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, wasn’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be.”

She moved to get the other side and it hurt a little more but all it did was make Dean grit his teeth.

“Okay moving down now.”

If this was all it was Dean didn’t know why he was so freaked out. Sure it was weird having a lady pour wax on his privates, but she didn’t seem phased and he figured she wouldn’t be if this is what she did for a living. 

“Okay one, two, three.”

“FUCK!” Was this woman Satan all of a sudden!? Holy shit! It still hurt. Someone stabbed him in the nuts. He’d been stabbed in the fucking nuts! Oh God she was moving back in, he wasn’t sure he could do this. No. He needed to man up! He couldn’t take Cas’s dick, and now he couldn’t get waxed? No, absolutely not. Winchesters did not give in to pain they pushed through it! He was a man! Who cares that every individual hair was being brutally ripped out of his balls? He didn’t because he was a tough fucking man.

After the third strip was ripped off of him, Dean just started laughing. It hurt like hell, but for some reason it was hysterical.

“Lift your legs up we’re going to do the butt now.”

Yeah this was humiliating.

“One, two, three!”

“Son of a bitch!” Why did the butt hurt so bad!? Why was he enduring this pain now so that he could be hairless to endure more pain later!? Was this worth it? No probably not. Dean was never waxing again. He’d been lured into the hair removal industry by misleading gay porn actors with their hairless taints and assholes. Dean suddenly felt a deep appreciation for every woman he’d had sex with who’d ever waxed anything. He’d paid to get tortured.

Several applications of cooling jell later, Dean left the salon with lighter pockets and privates that were smooth as fuck. If Cas didn't notice he’d lose his shit.

 

______________________________

 

The bottoming blog told him to take a relaxing bath. It was Dean’s first bath in years and it was awesome. For some reason it never occurred to him to take a bath instead of a shower, probably because it was so time consuming; now that he was soaped up in a tub of steamy clean water, well he was considering making time for this once a week.  As much as he wanted to lie there with his eyes closed and do absolutely nothing, Dean was on a mission and he had work to do.

He nudged a finger into himself and grimaced. There was something weird about doing this to himself. One finger was pretty easy to get in. It didn’t hurt per say, but it wasn’t totally pleasant either—which was weird because he usually liked when a guy put a few fingers in his ass. Maybe it was because this was a completely non-sexual experience. The goal here wasn’t to get off, it was to stretch himself out and get comfortable with his body so that he could work his way up to the sex stuff. It was strange and uncomfortable, but Dean stuck another finger in. Now it was starting to burn. The water helped relax him, and once some of the tension oozed off the pain dissipated. He really needed to relax; it made a world of difference. Okay three fingers. Now that hurt. Dean took all his fingers out and took a deep breath. He could do this. He’d gotten waxed for fucks sake; he didn’t go through that shit just to wimp out at stage two.  Three fingers again. That shit still hurt. He took one finger out and tried to stretch open with two. He snuck the third finger in when his ass wasn’t paying attention. Okay better now. Maybe he was making progress. 

The trick to anal Dean was learning, was that you could never have too much lube. Sam was asleep in his room…or at least Dean hoped he was, and Dean was sitting on his bed glaring daggers at his newly purchased vibrator. This was a weird place to be in, because Dean wanted to use it without actually using it. For some reason totally unbeknownst to him, he was uncomfortable knowing that he could get off on using a dick shaped object that he put inside of him. Dean felt like it was wrong, which was laughable considering he’d had a dick in his ass the other day. He was the one seeking out this experience, and yet he was also fighting against it.   

Dean stared at his lube covered fingers, worried his relationship with Cas was turning him into someone he wasn’t. Of course Cas hadn’t demanded anything of him, he’d been pretty chill and easy going about the whole situation, but it would have been so much easier if he could bottom. This wasn’t Dean’s forte: he wasn’t girly, he was supposed to be manly and gruff and avoid shit like talking about feelings. Although these days it seemed like all he did was talk about his feelings. There were a lot of changes going on in his life, and while Dean didn’t voice this out loud, he was kind of afraid. He was constantly having internalized conceptions of who he was and how the world worked challenged, and this whole bottoming endeavor was simply an addition to that list. He was supposed to be the guy, not the chick, but he also really wanted to know what it was like to have someone inside of him.  The idea felt good, and that terrified him.

Wait, he’d talked about this in therapy, there was probably a deeper issue here. A lot of his fears, aside from the ones concerning physical pain, had to do with him seeming feminine or being a chick. The thing though, was that he wouldn’t ever be a girl no matter what he put in his body. It was a startling sort of realization and it let Dean peak behind the curtain to get a glimpse of some of the inner workings of his mind. He was a man and bottoming wouldn't alter that.  If he got fucked or put something in his ass, no one but him and in this case Cas had to know about it. Dean needed to get comfortable with himself—because it wasn’t the world giving him nasty looks, it was him.

Getting the vibrator in was almost as painful as trying to get in Cas’s dick. Dean tried to take some seriously deep breaths to release the tension from his body. Did he just have the tightest asshole in the world? He couldn’t understand why this was so difficult. The urge to rip it out and throw it against the wall was pretty strong, but Dean persevered and after ten extremely awkward minutes of staring at his ceiling, the burning sensation dulled into a muted throb. It almost felt good, there was just something missing, almost like reaching for something that was placed a little too high on the self. Now that Dean was a little more confident he figured he better try moving it in and out. As soon as he pulled it out and back in he felt his body spasm and jerk through the pain. Okay no, that was off the table for now.

This was exactly the same problem he had originally. He could get the damn thing inside him, it just hurt too much when he tried to move it around. Maybe it was just a matter of keeping it in a little to get used to it. Dean assumed his body would learn to accommodate it eventually, well hopefully. There were those vibrate settings…He already had the thing in his ass, it wasn’t like hitting a button was going make him more gay. Dean reached down and awkwardly pressed the vibrate button on. Whoa okay, it was doing something. It felt really good on the rim of his ass, and soon the tingling feeling that had Dean humming traveled up inside of him. He squirmed a little when his ass gave an unintentional squeeze around the vibrator. The movement nudged his prostate and it was suddenly very hard not to make noise. Dean bit his knuckle as his dick hardened and lifted. He gave it a few quick jerks.  The heat in his groin increased and soon his body moved without him, clenching and writhing off the mattress.  In a moment of lucidity he thought to try and move the vibrator, just to see if he could. It was nerve wracking because there was a large chance it would be just as painful as the last time, but pleasure was currently overriding pain, so he went for it. The vibrator moved out and slipped in. It burned but just barely, it was actually kind of hot. Another thrust, and another, only a little pain, nothing bad enough to make him stop. Maybe he could do this. A little hard work and some soul searching could go along way.

Dean came with a silent shout.

 

______________________________

 

Dean had work until five today leaving him two hours to prepare. Thankfully Sam was still working, Dean didn’t know how he was going to douche and get a butt plug in him if his little brother was scampering around the house searching for Cheetos. 

Douching was such a strange experience. Not only did Dean shoot warm water up his ass, he kept having to run to the bathroom. Cleaning out his entire butt before every sexual encounter was the definition of unsustainable. This was a special occasion ordeal, period.

The butt plug was way more intimidating than the vibrator. Why was it shaped so oddly? Dean couldn’t understand its design, at all. It did occur to him, as he was adding more lube and pressing the plug into his body, that this might all be a colossal waste of time.  For some reason, he had elected to do this to himself, and for what? To please Cas? Cas had been pretty happy about fucking him without all this preparation, so no this was probably for himself.  Dean had to prove he could do something right. 

It was possible he’d spent too much time wearing the butt plug. No one ever talked about how long was appropriate so he’d been left to wing it. It was out now, it was washed, and most importantly, hidden.

Their mutual love of junk food was the center of Dean and Cas’s relationship, so Dean didn’t fuck around with the pizza.  They got meat lovers, not half meat lovers half mushroom because Sam was craving a fungus, but a full large pie covered in pepperoni, sausage, and whatever other meat found itself stuck to a bed of cheesy goodness. 

Dean rang the doorbell feeling more like a delivery boy than a guy planning on getting fucked. Well if this were a gay porno, those roles kind of worked in tandem. The door opened and Cas visibly inhaled. The pizza did smell really fucking good.

“Hello Dean” 

“Somebody order a pizza?”

“…You did?” 

“Yeah Cas I know, I was being playful.”

“Oh…yes, yes I ordered the pizza.”

“Remind me to never introduce role play into our sex life. Scoot over the pizza’s burning my hands.”

There was nothing like eating pizza and watching reruns of old Batman cartoons to make Dean feel like a kid again. Though Cas had sort of a stiff personality, something about him made Dean want to take his shoes off and sit with his legs open. It was calming and very comfortable. Dean was all about keeping things casual and for some reason Cas complimented that aspect of him.

“I honestly don’t know how you don’t know who Batman is.”

“I know _of_ Batman.”

“How did you not watch a single Batman cartoon? I mean didn’t you dress up as him for Halloween _once_?" 

“No, I was an angel for Halloween.”

“Every Halloween?”

“Yes”

“Do we have to do Halloween this year?”

“…I’m not sure how to answer your question.”

Why was that so cute?

“You only got to be one thing for Halloween your whole life, don’t you want to be something different for once?”

“I’m far too old for Halloween.”

“Yeah but we could still get candy.”

“I’m open to purchasing candy…” 

“Batman candy…” 

“Do they manufacture that?”

“I don’t know probably, he’s only like the best superhero ever; they’ve got Batman everything. How do you not know Batman!?”

“When I was young I wasn’t allowed to watch those sorts of shows and when I was finally able to make my own choices I was too old for Batman.”

“Dude, you’re never too old for Batman.”

“Hence why we’re watching it now?”

“Exactly. One time when we were kids, Sam broke his arm because he jumped off our roof; he was wearing a Batman costume and he thought he could fly.”

“But Batman doesn’t fly.”

“I KNOW!” For the first time in his life someone got it. Whenever Dean told that story people never caught on to how stupid Sam was. It was always, ‘Was he hurt?’ ‘Where were your parents?’, but never the important details like that Sam didn’t even understand Batman’s character.

“Did you also jump off the roof?”

“Yeah but I was Superman and he _can_ fly. It made sense when I did it.”

“Did you also sustain injuries?”

“No, I knew what I was doing.”

“Well I suppose that strengthens your case, concerning Superman, Batman, and the validity of jumping off houses.”

“Yeah it does—wait are you making fun of me?”

“I think teasing would be the more appropriate word.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and took a bite of his pizza. Every once and a while Cas would surprise him with a zinger or a witty comeback. It was like he was selectively socially adept and inept.

“I am enjoying Batman though. I admire his sense of duty and justice.” 

“Yeah?” The bright smile plastered on Dean’s face was enough incentive for Castiel to praise every single Batman incarnation.

“I am quite fond of Alfred. I find myself relating to him.”

“Cas, I could totally be Batman and you could be Alfred!”

“But we’re already Dean and Castiel.”

“Yeah but if we were in Batman’s world that’s who we would be.” Dean flipped his wrists and created a mask out of his hands. “Would I make a good Batman?”

“Yes, you have a very nice mouth, which is important if everything else is covered.”

“I have a nice mouth huh?”

“Yes, it’s nice and…pouty.” Cas was staring at it now and the sudden shift in attention didn’t go unnoticed. This was Dean’s chance. Sex wasn’t an option it was a necessity. Dean did not wax his fucking taint and shoot water up his ass just so he could eat pizza and go home.

“Mmhmm” So maybe Dean slid in closer. So maybe he licked his lips even though they were perfectly hydrated. Cas’s eyes were on them, and Dean was willing to put on a good show, especially if it took him one step closer to getting him what he wanted.

“You know who else has a nice mouth?” Now all notions of personal space were nonexistent.  Of course Cas didn’t mind, he was the biggest violator of personal bubbles, but what was unusual was that his typically blank and unconcerned expression was tinged with something that looked a lot like tension.

“W-who?”

The smell of pizza eased until it was replaced completely by clean whiffs of rain, chamomile, and whatever else was bottled up in Cas’s aftershave, as Dean pushed himself centimeters away from Castiel’s lips.

“You” It was cheesy and unnecessary, but Cas worshipped the ground Dean walked so he took the bait—chasing the distance between them and locking their lips in a kiss.

It progressed as these things did, with more urgent movements and the slip and slide of practiced tongues too unfamiliar with their partners to set aside nervous excitement and rely on technique alone. Firmly in the passionate stage of a new relationship, their mouths didn’t taste of flesh or the remnants of cheap pizza, but of lust with a zest of real feelings too timid to be said allowed. 

“Sex?” Just lifting his lips off long enough to form the one syllable word was torture, but no matter how hard it had been for Dean, Cas seemed to be taking it infinitely worse. 

“Mmm” Cas’s answer was muffled by Dean’s mouth. Dean was going to take that as an enthusiastic yes.

They were on the bed in seconds. Forget fitness, the promise of sex was all the motivation Dean needed to move quickly. He might even be able to keep up with Sam on a run if Cas was waiting for him naked at the finish line.

“Birthday suit, now.” 

“I don’t understand—“

“Get naked.”

“But why did you reference my birthday? I don’t understand why—“

“Do you want me to explain this right now or do you want me to touch your dick?” That shut Cas up.

Their clothes were flung onto the floor without a thought of the inevitable wrinkling.

“Come’re” Dean reached for Cas who nearly threw himself into Dean’s arms. The force knocked Dean onto his back and took the wind right out of him. 

“Jesus!”

“No, I’m Castiel.” 

“You little shit.” Dean laughed, because hell it was funny, and soon Cas let out a tiny hiss of amusement.

His laughter faded into a quiet kiss.  Kissing Cas was too easy. It bordered on dangerous.

Eventually Cas’s mouth wandered down the center of Dean’s neck leaving open-mouthed kisses and experimental nips in its wake. Dean shut his eyes when his nipple was enveloped in the heat of Cas’s mouth. It felt good and he arched into it, slipping his fingers through Castiel’s dark hair in encouragement. Cas lifted himself and turned his head to the side to place a gentle kiss on the inside of Dean’s wrist. It was such a simple gesture, very quiet, very quick, but it was tender in a way that was unexpected, and it suggested a level of intimacy that both frightened Dean and warmed the inside of his chest.

The kisses continued down his stomach and onto his hips. Cas pushed up on the underside of Dean’s knee then stared between Dean’s legs. Understandably it made Dean a little nervous.

“Cas?”

“Something is different.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Something about…this area.” He waved his hand around Dean’s crotch. Dean sat up in confusion.

“Weird I…oh!” He got waxed. Cas had noticed, even if he couldn't put his finger on what had changed. “What if I do this, notice the difference now?” Dean moved onto his stomach and lifted himself onto all fours. Cas scooted forward and rested his hand on the outside of Dean’s thigh.

“Are you hairless?” 

“Yup, went in and got the old second-wife special. Sexy or weird?”

“To be perfectly honest, I’d take you either way.”

“You’re so sappy.”

“I’m actually very aroused.”

“I bet. You’ve got me all naked and pressed up against you.” He turned himself around and spread his leg open as Cas’s hand slid from the outside to the inside of his thigh. “I haven’t held up my end of the deal though.”

Dean slid his hand up the length of Cas’s dick and squeezed the head against his palm. He smiled smugly when Cas’s mouth fell open and he pulsed forward into his touch. Cas hummed as Dean put more effort into his strokes and dipped forward to suck on the side of his neck. It was hot to see Cas, who was usually so stoic, break his resolve and moan deeply when Dean touched him just right.

Dean leaned into Cas’s hands on his body and exhaled shakily when Cas’s fingers slipped into the crack between his cheeks to nudge at his hole.

“Dean, we don’t have to do anal again.” Cas was very serious now as he stared into Dean’s eyes with intensity—it was almost funny because Dean hadn’t stopped jacking him off.

“I want to.” He didn’t douche just so he and Cas could exchange blowjobs!

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah, you know what they say, practice makes perfect.”

“Okay. Turn around.”

Dean twisted and laid flat on his stomach.  The warmth from Cas’s body hovering above him pulled the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck up. He moaned lightly when he felt lips on the back of his neck, then twitched when Cas slid his tongue down the dip of his spine.

“That feels good.” Dean’s words were soft and muffled by the pillow pressed against the left side of his face. 

He gasped when Cas’s tongue moved into his ass and licked him open. He rocked into the mattress as the tightness on his dick intensified and let out little moans and gasps when Cas grabbed his hips and pushed in him with his tongue.

Dean turned his head to follow Cas as he leaned over his back to grab the lube and a condom from the drawer in the nightstand. Their location had moved since last time…interesting.

“I’m going to be more thorough this time.”

The one lubed up finger Cas pressed against Dean’s hole slid in easily.

“You can put two in.”

Cas did.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah it feels good.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like you have two fingers in my ass.” 

“I see”

Dean laughed and threw his face into the pillow. He could hear Cas laughing behind him and he was eternally grateful he’d found someone who he could have truly casual sex with and forgo the need to put on a performance and stay in character. 

“Do you enjoy having me play with your ass?”

“Yeah it’d be better if you found my—ah!” 

“I found it.” Cas pressed on Dean’s prostate, pushing against it with his middle finger.

“Oh fuck, ah that’s good. That feels so good.” Hundreds, maybe thousands, of tingling nerves shot up Dean’s back and wrapped around his stomach. He groaned and snuck his arm under him to tug on his dick. Cas pulled away and Dean heard him squeeze out more lube. The three fingers inside of him didn’t hurt at all. It was certainly a little fuller down there but it didn’t burn like it had last time.

“Does that hurt?”

“No”

“You’re not as tight this time.”

“I got more creative the last time I jerked off. It was pretty easy to stretch open when I thought about you fucking me.”

“You masturbated to the thought of me fucking you?”

“Yeah, and it was really hot. Do you think about fucking me when you jerk off?” 

“…Yes”

“Shit you better save this for the spank bank.” Dean’s ass tightened around the fingers inside him when he felt Cas brush against his prostate.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Cas’s mouth was against his ear, open and hot, making Dean shiver against him.

“Yes" 

Dean lifted himself onto his knees while Cas rolled on the condom. He cocked his head behind him and pinched his brows together in confusion when Cas kissed down his lower back and onto the swell of his ass. Dean huffed in disbelief when he realized Cas was sucking a hickey onto his ass. Someone was a little more possessive than they let on. 

“Tell me if it hurts or if you need me to stop.”

Dean lowered himself to his forearms when he felt the tip of Cas’s penis breach the opening of his asshole. The pain he’d felt last time never came, but it was still a bit of a shock to have something that big inside him.

“Alright?”

“Yeah, take it easy though.” 

“Can I move?”

“Yeah”

Cas pulled out an inch or two before pushing back in slowly. It burned and for a second Dean felt completely hopeless. He’d worked so fucking hard to get himself loose enough to take Cas’s cock, and it still fucking hurt. The pain wasn’t so bad that Dean needed to stop, but it was disheartening.

“Hurt?”

“Kind of”

“Should I stop?”

“No, no it’s okay.”

Cas pushed in again and it hurt again.

“Relax Dean.”

“I’m trying.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to rid his body of tension. The burning in his ass eased and for a second Dean felt the ghost of something good. Hopeful he could chase that sensation, he leaned into Cas’s thrust and was surprised by how nice the stretch felt.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, it feels better now.” It was interesting to feel so full. To a degree it felt like he really needed to go to the bathroom, but it also felt like before this he’d been empty waiting to be filled. Cas moaned above him when his thrust went in a little deeper.

“You feel good Dean. Ah, you’re very tight.”

Dean liked knowing that he made Cas feel good, like he was succeeding at bringing him pleasure and taking his cock. Dean shivered at the idea of getting fucked, of getting pounded by Cas’s thick cock and feeling full. He moaned when Cas’s hips snapped from below and changed the angle of his dick inside him. That didn’t just feel okay, that felt good and Dean wanted more of it. 

“Do that again.”

“Like this?”

“Ah, yeah that, ah it feels, good.”

“Here” Cas pulled out and crawled up toward the headboard. At first Dean was completely confused, but he caught on when Cas sat up and pushed at his waist. Dean stood on his knees with his back facing Castiel’s chest and let gravity help him sink onto Cas’s cock. A low moan from deep in his chest surprised him.

“Is this better?” Cas pressed a kiss against his shoulder blade and Dean nodded his head as his eyes fluttered closed. He rocked into Cas’s thrusts from below and gasped when the tip of Cas’s dick pressed his prostate. Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s chest and moved him up and down onto his dick.

Dean gripped his cock and pulled on it in time with each thrust. His heart rate quickened and his breath came out in shaky pants that were occasionally broken up by a moan when Cas’s dick pushed in deep. 

“Turn around”

Dean moved to face Cas and was met with forceful kiss. Cas stretched out his legs so that Dean could move in closer then angled his dick to slide into Dean. Dean’s lips parted in a silent moan that encouraged Cas to close his eyes and greet the feeling of Dean’s body engulfing him.

It was different facing each other. Dean could see every bead of sweat roll down Cas’s forehead, and every change in his expression when he pushed in. Whenever Dean would rock up and down into the thrusts Cas’s mouth would open and he would gasp or moan.  It was scary. Dean felt close to Cas, connected to him and not just in the literal sense. He’d opened himself to Castiel, who’d entered upon his invitation. Dean had allowed himself to be vulnerable and Cas was treating him with such grace and reverence. He was so grateful to be inside Dean’s body.

The full feeling traveled up Dean’s stomach and into his chest.

Cas’s moans grew louder and more frequent. He was getting close. Eager to time their orgasms, Dean slid his hand between them and jerked himself off quickly. Cas seemed to catch on and fucked into Dean harder. He moved to rub the head of Dean’s dick, which sent a sharp thread if lightening down Dean’s spine.

“Dean I’m, getting close.” Cas’s eyes closed and his movements became more erratic.  An electric current ran through Dean’s body and built up to an explosion.  He pulled on his dick harder and faster, chasing the feeling. Cas’s cock hit his prostate and suddenly Dean burst, clamping down on Castiel as white fireworks went off behind his eyelids and cum shot into his hand. Cas grabbed Dean’s hips and held him down as he pushed in deeper, shouting as he came and filled the condom.

They stayed still locked in their position, panting with their eyes closed before leaning in to share a sated thank you in the form of a sloppy kiss. Dean rolled off and fell onto his back, keeping his eyes closed as internal sunlight shined down on his face.

Cas fumbled with the condom before tying it and leaning over Dean to place it on the nightstand. The trash was too far away. He grabbed a tissue and handed it to Dean who cleaned himself off. Cas collapsed onto his stomach but inched in so that his side was pressed up against Dean and his left arm rested on top of his shoulder.

“Did you enjoy it?” If it was possible Cas’s voice was even lower and more gravelly then it was before.

Dean cracked and eye open and turned his head towards Cas whose blue eyes were peeking from behind of mop of completely sexed up hair.

“Yeah, I liked it a lot.” 

“Good, I’m happy.”

Dean pressed himself against Cas’s side kissed the bulge of his tricep. He would never admit to anyone how much he wanted to be cuddled and held right now; it was beyond unmanly, but he’d just had Cas inside him, he couldn’t help but feel close to the guy. Cas was warm and his skin was soft and smooth against Dean’s hand. He lifted himself up to kiss Cas’s back then pinched his eyebrows together in question. Between Cas’s shoulder blades were two wispy black wings tattooed onto his skin. They looked like bird or maybe angel wings raised up in ascension. The whole picture was maybe as big as the circle he would make if he touched his index finger to his thumb. 

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” 

“Yes, I’m just thankful it’s small.”

Dean scrunched his face up in confusion but held Cas down when he tried to roll onto his back. 

“What you don’t like it?” Dean traced the grey highlights along the individual feathers.

“I never see it if I’m honest, so I suppose I’ve made my peace with it because of that.” Cas rolled onto his back and Dean fit in to the space between Cas’s arms that was left open for him.

“Dude, stop being so cryptic. What’s the big deal?”

“I was extremely manic when I got it. For some reason it seemed like a great idea at the time.  Once I calmed down I was so angry with myself for getting it, but I suppose it wasn’t as damaging as some of the other things I subjected myself to at the time.”

“Wait so you were crazy when you got it?”

“Yes I was sick. I was very reckless; I’m surprised I didn’t get them going all the way down my back.” 

“So being bipolar makes you get tattoos?”

“The mania can make you behave recklessly. Depending on the case it can make you act like a completely different person.”

“I mean you don’t look the type to hide tattoos under your trench coat.”

“I assure you I am not.”

“It’s kind of cute, your wings. Matches your name I guess.”

“I’m sure I thought something along those lines when I had it done. Does your tattoo have a story?”

Dean quieted for a moment but gave in to the intimacy as Cas’s fingers ran up and down his arm.

“Yeah uh, Sammy and I, we got them together. They’re like these anti-possession symbols.” 

“Anti-possession from, demons?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry I’m not some crazy crackpot who thinks little girls are going to be throwing up split pea soup.” Unsurprisingly that reference was completely lost on Castiel. “It’s like symbolic. You know, inner demons and stuff. My brother really wanted to get one, and I wanted to show him that we were a team you know? That I was gonna be with him forever, that he was never gonna be alone.” 

“Did something happen to Sam?”

Answering that question would be difficult because Dean didn’t feel it was his story to tell. But Cas was, well he was Cas, and it was so easy to talk to him.

“My brother uh, he used to do drugs. Like hard drugs.”

"I see.”

“He’s clean now. But it was so fucking hard Cas. I mean we went through a lot of shit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I worry about him all the time. You know he’s good now, but he went out and he—he’s good for a while and then he's back on drugs. I feel like the good times just can’t last, I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“You shouldn’t think like that.”

“I gotta. Just the other day he…”

“Dean?”

“He’s not doing well. I think he feels guilty and shit. He’s talking to his sponsor, but Sam’s not like me, he’s emotional and he needs to talk about his feelings all the time.”

“That’s probably quite healthy.”

“Yeah but I’m not good at that. I always think I’m gonna say the wrong thing. He needs to talk to someone, like a therapist or something, but he’s not insured and therapy is expensive as fuck. We can’t shell out hundreds of dollars an hour.”

“I don’t specialize in substance abuse but, I could talk to Sam.”

“Dude come on, you don’t have to.” 

“I’m serious Dean. I wouldn’t charge you, obviously.” 

“You mean I’d have to pay you with sex.”

“I was hoping I could have sex with you for free.”

“Is that okay though if my brother is seeing the guy I’m…”

“Dating”

“Are we dating?”

“We have gone on many dates. Do you not wish to be…dating?”

“I, I dunno. Do you ‘wish to be dating’?”

“Yes. You are fifty percent of this however.”

“So you wanna be my _boyfriend_?”

“Very badly.”

Maybe it was the oxytocin running through his system, or how open they were being, but commitment didn’t seem so ugly right then.

“You need to be careful what you wish for Cas, because now your boyfriend is Dean Winchester.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy regretting every second of this.”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Or a girlfriend really. Is it really okay for Sammy to get therapy from my boyfriend?”

“It would be completely confidential, I couldn’t tell you anything. If he’s uncomfortable I could refer him to someone who I know wouldn’t charge much.”

“Really? You’d do that for us?”

“There isn’t much I wouldn’t do.”

“You’re so sappy.”

“I’m actually just very happy.”

Dean groaned and hid his face in Cas’s shoulder. It didn’t seem possible but Cas had gotten even sappier. 

“Can you sleepover? I won’t make you run in the morning.”

Cas was warm and his bed was cushy, so Dean wanted to stay, but his life was complicated and he couldn’t actually sleep without help. 

“I can’t, I didn’t bring my sleeping pills.”

“Ugh. Next time bring your pills. Now that you’re my boyfriend we’re supposed to have sleepovers.”

“What are you, sixteen?”

“…No, but I am thirsty.”

“Me too”

“But I don’t want to remove myself from this position.”

“I think there was some pizza left.”

“Oh, well I suppose it's worth it.” Cas pulled himself off the bed making Dean laugh because holy shit, someone else was just as enthusiastic about stuffing their face as he was.

“Do you want underwear Dean?”

“Uh I guess so.” Dean pushed off the bed and smacked Cas’s ass while he opened a drawer.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey you’re the one who left a hickey on my ass.”

Apparently that was all the invitation Cas needed to step around and take a good long look at the mark he’d made currently decorating Dean’s ass.

“It’s quite sizeable.” 

“Shit really?” Dean spiraled his back to check it out but ended up turning around himself like a dog chasing its tail.

“Here” 

They put on boxers and stumbled out into the kitchen so that they could down glasses of water and attack the remaining pieces of pizza. It was all very touchy feely. They leaned on each other when they watched old cartoons and stole kisses between bites of pizza. It was all so domestic, like maybe a deleted scene from a Nicolas Sparks book. Dean didn’t hate it. It was nice, even if it had been what he’d resisted his whole life.

Dean tried not to let himself wonder how long it could last as he kissed Cas goodbye and drove back home to his possibly relapsing brother. For now Dean needed to embrace happiness, and make sure he had his fucking sleeping pills on him the next time he went to Cas’s place. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm back! Sorry it took me forever to update. It's been months. My excuse isn't that great, basically school started up again and I had a thesis to write and a lot of difficult classes. I tried to make up for it by making a lot happen in this very long chapter. Again I'm really sorry!

Life could be uncharacteristically kind.

The tranquil stability his relationship with Cas offered had Dean wondering why the fuck ‘boyfriend’ had ever been a dirty word. They stole each other’s food, kissed each other just because, and high fived after taking handfuls of pills. The sex got easier, then it got better, and then it got good. Sometimes Dean went on runs with Cas, sometimes with Sam, and sometimes they all ran together—well Sam and Cas ran together, Dean crawled after them. Sam met with Cas a few times, and Cas referred him to a therapist friend of his who took Sam on for little to no money. Things were working out and for the first time in a while Dean felt genuinely happy.

Sometimes he couldn’t even get the smiles off his face—it was like an oil stain he couldn’t wipe off or wash out. The corners of his mouth lifted when he was fixing cars or doing dishes. Sometimes he couldn’t help but perk up and flash smiles to strangers as he walked from point A to point B. It was weird and so very unlike him. Dean could smile, obviously, but his grins were often counterfeit. These new smiles were genuine.

Imagine that, Dean Winchester, happy. Was getting a boyfriend all it took? Maybe. Cas was a good boyfriend. He cared about Dean, but more importantly he cared for Sam as well. Sam and Cas were bros, they liked each other, and that made Dean feel secure. Bobby would always have their back, but Bobby didn’t live in their apartment—he couldn’t be there to worry about Sam every five seconds. Now that Cas was friends with Sam, Dean felt like he had backup. If something happened to his little brother Cas would help him without hesitation, and it was such a fucking relief.

Sam seemed to be doing well. True to form he channeled all his drug cravings into exercise, which was good, but it also meant he was out of the house a lot so Dean couldn’t be sure he was actually hitting the gym. It sucked to question everything Sam said; Dean felt like an asshole for being so skeptical, but Sam lied. Winchesters were liars. Dean could lie too. He knew he wasn’t the patron saint of honesty, but Dean wasn’t an addict either. Relapses had happened before and they always took an enormous toll. The nagging worry stayed with Dean, hiding behind genuine smiles and holding his hand during morning runs. Cas kept him grounded though, giving him strong gazes and whispering ‘We’ll deal with it’ in reassurance. The craziest thing was that Cas knew shit about Sam that Dean didn’t. He had secrets from their therapy sessions and he would not break his silence on the issue, much to Dean’s displeasure. Confidentially was a bitch.

“Ah fuck! Shit, oh shit.”

The angular plane of Cas’s hipbones pressed into the fleshy tops of Dean’s hamstrings. An unnamable sensation ushered Dean’s eyes closed and parted his lips as he grabbed the edge of the side of his cheap mattress. The bed was Ikea, or so he remembered, and it was flimsy, creaking and jostling about on the floor in time with his body.

Part of Dean wanted to scream obscenities, to demand Cas fuck him harder, faster, deeper, but when he cracked his eyes open he could barely see Cas’s torso, erect and sleek with sweat, and words were relegated to an idea that couldn’t be processed by his open mouth. The tips of his toes curled and it was over in an extended jolt.

Those two minutes of silence after sex were always Dean’s favorite. The world seemed to slow for moments like these. For one hundred and twenty seconds Dean lived behind his eyelids. Without sight, Dean experienced the waves in his legs sink down to the bone as his calves met the soft surface of the bed. His toes twitched in the air, deciding to just adapt to their position as his ankles hung off the side of the bed. The room smelled like sweat, maybe rubber, and the clean laundry he’d just folded and put away.

His body was so pliant, so dead in the best way possible. Cas wasn’t touching him but his warmth was just inches away. Dean could feel him through the air.

Air felt good on his skin. Cas’s lips felt good on his neck.

“You’re smiling.”

“I’ve been known to do that time to time.” Dean cracked his eyes open and threw a glance towards Cas.

“Did you realize it though?”

“That I was smiling? No, not really.”

“Do it again.”

“Smile?”

“Yes…no not like that.”

“This is my face smiling man.”

“No this is too forced, do it like before.” 

“Stop now I can’t do it!”

A deep frown etched its way onto Cas’s face. Dean returned the expression with an equally disparaging look.

“Why do you want me to smile again anyway?”

“I like to look at you, especially when you’re smiling.”

“Oh my God man you have got to stop with the-“

“You’re doing it.”

“No I’m not! I’m trying to tell you that you are seriously the sappiest person in the universe. You need to date some kind of chick because you tell me I’m pretty a little too much.”

“Dean I’m confused.”

“What could I have possibly said that made you confused Cas?”

“…You seem angry with me, but you are smiling and…and you’re looking at me strangely.”

“I’m not angry, like at all. I’m pretty happy actually.”

“Well you are smiling.”

“Still?”

“Yes”

“Shit, what if I’m dying?”

“That would be unfortunate.”

“I mean who would you have to fuck?”

“I would be more concerned with trying to fill the void of losing both my best friend and lover.”

“Wait I’m your best friend?”

“…Yes Dean, I hope that was obvious.”

“I hate to break it to you man, but nothing is ever obvious with you.”

“Dean, you’re looking at me strangely again.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He leaned over and sealed their conversation with a kiss. It would be unbelievably embarrassing is Cas ever found out that that strange look was the first stage of serious emotional investment. It would probably be even worse if Dean figured it out himself. 

“When will Sam be home?” 

“What time is it?”

“Almost 10”

“Maybe in like a half hour. Just enough time to take a shower.”

“That is a very long shower.”

“Not if you take one with me." 

“Why would I accompany you in the shower? Wouldn’t that take up an excess amount of time? I suppose if you’re trying to conserve-“

“Cas”

“water it would make sense but you’re not usually interested in environmental-“

“We’re going to have sex in the shower." 

“Oh…I’ll bring the lubricant.”

Shower sex was complicated. There was so much to take into account, like temperature for example. The water needed to be hot but not too hot, and Dean had shitty plumbing so it was bound to be a fucking production (in more ways than one...).

Space was another issue. The shower was one of those bath-showers, so it wasn’t like there wasn’t room, but he and Cas were big dudes, and this wasn’t a sex shower—if the curtain was anything to go by. It was a squeeze. There were about two or three inches between them, well of water space. One of them could be nice and step back, but neither he nor Cas was selfless enough to freeze. It was kind of hot though. Dean could feel Cas in the empty space between their bodies. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up as a puff of breath drifted across his wet skin. He turned around, skimming the cold tile wall, and threw a smirk over at Cas who…gulped. Imagine that, good old stoic Castiel, nervous. Nice to know Dean still had it. 

He kissed him, slowly because the water melted away the aching in his back, then quickly because Cas made his heart want to beat out of his chest. The hand that cupped his jaw made Dean pause slightly, because it only occurred to him after he’d done it, that he’d leaned into the touch. Cas smelled like his shampoo. His hair was dark against Dean’s fingers. His skin was slippery on Dean’s skin.

“Dean I—“

“Dean!”

“Oh shit, Sam. What!?”

“Let me in I have to pee!”

“I’m busy!”

“Dean I’m gonna pee myself!”

“Fine give me a minute!”

“I don’t have a minute!”

Dean killed the water and offered Cas a look at Sam’s expense. If Sam’s job at The Roadhouse ever fell through he could definitely become a professional cockblocker.

Once they were toweled but still sopping wet, Dean opened the door.

“You didn’t have to stop showering you just needed to let me—oh hi Cas. Oh gross guys!”

“Don’t you need to pee?” 

“Yes.” Sam slammed the door behind him. 

“That was…uncomfortable.” Cas narrowed his eyes as he seemed to ponder his own words.

“Joke’s on him though, we didn’t even have sex.”

“Yes, I didn’t even realize it though.”

“What?” Dean toweled himself off as they walked back into his room.

“That we didn’t have sex.”

“…Okay.” 

“I didn’t mind.” Cas looked at Dean hopefully, trying to see if Dean could gather the meaning behind his heavily coded statement, seeing if he could speak a silent language. 

“Sometimes I swear Cas, you’re an alien. Just give me a heads up if you’re about to phone home okay.” The underwear drawer shut, punctuating Dean’s teasing statement. “Let me guess, you didn’t get that reference.” 

“…No, I did not.” 

“Add _E.T_ to the list of movies you’re going to watch.” 

“Is it another ‘great film’.” 

“No, I just need you to watch enough shit so that we can get you somewhere at least approaching understanding references.”

“You do make a lot of references Dean.”

“Yeah well, I’m very cultured.”

“I’m going to refrain from commenting on that.”

“You dick!”

“I brought my pills.”

“A very prepared dick. Okay, sleep?”

“Yes”

They journeyed to the kitchen, because why dry swallow 6 pills when you could get yourself a glass of water? Dean was getting pretty good at taking multiple pills in one go, and Cas was apparently a fucking pro—but that wasn’t surprising, Cas was into swallowing.

They high-fived, drowning out the sound of their glasses clinking on the counter. Dean was getting pretty good about hitting those high-fives without looking.

Sex usually tired Dean out, so he didn’t fight the sleeping pills or the softness of the pillow, and gave himself to sleep. 

 

_________________________________

 

It was close to 4 AM when Dean woke up to the sound of Cas’s cell phone screaming bloody murder. He jerked, then rubbed the heaviness out of his eyes. Who the fuck called this motherfucking early? Cas seemed to agree with Dean’s silent sentiments. He grimaced, slowly sat up in bed, then snapped the phone from its charger and put it up to his ear.

“Hello? Bart?...No, don’t apologize.”

This was a novel experience for Dean. Usually people didn’t answer strange calls at 4 AM, and they really didn’t take them while someone else was in bed with them. He sort of wanted to say something, maybe “What the fuck man?”, but Cas’s demeanor changed and it lodged the words deep in his throat. Cas looked like one of those collapsible dolls; he went from limp to jerkily stiff in a fraction of a second. 

“Bart, Bart, what is happening?” Grogginess, a product of the early hour and the extended release Ambien Dean was on, blurred Cas’s body as he shot off the bed and out of the room. Okay that was unusual, and scary. It took Dean a moment to get his bearings, but shit, he needed to get up, something was seriously going on. He wrapped his arms around his chest to fight the cold and stumbled out of the room. Dean stayed in the hall, partially hidden from Cas whose eyes were focused on the wall as he spoke evenly but quietly into the phone. God this brought back so many terrible memories. This had been Dean not that long ago, and Sam had been the person on the other end of the call. A hollow feeling in his body surprised him and made him seek the stability of the wall for support.

“This isn’t goodbye.”

Cas’s voice was in a different world—so very close but entirely severed from Dean’s reality. Dean didn’t know who had left the real world though, Cas or him. Sam had cried over the phone, just like the person in Cas’s ear was doing now.

“That’s not true.” 

What wasn’t? These fragments of this broken conversation kept Dean from walking into the room. He was so very outside of this moment in Cas’s life. After weeks of decorating the walls of Cas’s universe, it felt strange to be locked out, and invasive to want to barge right back in. There were parts of Cas that Dean didn’t know, but Dean knew what these kinds of post-witching-hour calls were like; They were never good. 

“I have to call 911. Ye-no, Bart, I have to. I’m going to hang up and I-no I’m not going to leave you. But Bart…Bart, I need to hang up so that I can call 911. No, no that’s not true at all. I care very deeply for you. I’m going to call 911, and I will meet you at the hospital. I will. I’ll get in the car right now. I promise. I’m going to call 911, so I’m going to hang up, but I will be there. Yes, I promise. I promise I will be there. Okay, I’m hanging up now. Okay.”

The three beeps of the dial tone exploded in the silence.

“Hello, I’m reporting a drug overdose...I’m not sure.”

Dean covered his mouth with his hand. Drug overdose? Shit. Was he destined to fall into these situations over and over again? How long before he and Cas switched places? How soon would he be the person answering the 4AM call?

“No, a suicide attempt. The address is-“

This was real; this wasn’t a dream, not the byproduct of a fucked up imagination and an abundance of medication. Someone called Cas in the middle of night to tell him goodbye because he was in the process of killing himself. 

“Dean.”

Dean shot out of his head and into the dark hall of his apartment. “Yeah”

“I need you to drive me to the hospital, now.”

“Okay, okay.”

They both ran into Dean’s room, putting on whatever they saw first.

“Cas, what’s going on man?”

“My patient, he took a bottle of something, I have to meet him at the hospital.” Cas’s tone was robotic, but Dean could detect genuine human panic in every syllable. He had a lot more questions, and a lot of his own feelings to sort through, but this wasn’t the time. For now he had to keep his mouth shut and help Cas get to the hospital.

The impala’s engine roared as Dean sped through yellow lights. Cas’s eyes stayed staring forward until they pulled up to the entrance of the emergency room. The door seemed loud against the night sky.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Dean asked. Cas was already out of the car.

“No”

“Come on man I don’t mind.”

“No, go home Dean.”

“Seriously Cas, you don’t need to do this alone.”

“Dean, it would break confidentiality. Go home. I’ll be fine.”

Dean felt like shit as he watched Cas jog through the automatic hospital doors. He felt like shit for feeling like shit too. This wasn’t about him, and yet it hurt that Cas didn’t want him there, that he didn’t want his help, and that he had been so damn terse. Sure, Cas’s behavior was understandable, every time he replayed it in his head Dean understood why that whole exchange went the way it did. He still felt a little sick though, and it bothered him. Cas was the one with some real shit going on, not him. He wasn’t important in this situation, he was a bystander. He shouldn’t be feeling hurt or shut out. Dean did though, and it fueled the nagging voice in his head that tallied his flaws and shouted them back at him.

Dean’s cellphone rang on the drive back to his apartment. He picked it up after making a right.

“Dean! What’s going on where did you go?!”

“It’s okay, I’m fine Sam. I’m coming back now." 

“You scared the shit out of me. What happened?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. Cas got a call, from a patient I think, and the patient tried to kill himself or something. I don’t know. It was bad whatever it was. And Cas called 911, then asked if I could drive him to the hospital, so I did.” 

“Shit. Is the guy okay?”

Dean caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired.

“Yeah, yeah he’s fine Sam.” Sam was a grown ass adult, but Dean was still sparing his feelings. Truth was he had no idea how Cas’s patient was doing. Maybe the guy would die—he didn’t know. Whatever happened though, Sam didn’t need to be involved. It would only upset him, and he was dealing with enough as it was. 

“Is Cas okay?”

“Um, well you know him, he’s Rain Man half the time.” Dean knew that didn’t answer Sam’s question, but Sam knew Dean well enough not to push.

“Are you okay?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine. It’s not exactly how I wanted to wake up, but I’ve had worse nights.” 

“Can’t argue with that. Just come home. I made coffee.” 

“Preparing for the worst?” 

“Hey, I didn’t know if I had to come out and save your ass. No way I was doing that without coffee.”

“I’ll be home in five. Don’t take the _Star Wars_ mug.”

“…Oh, um yeah.” 

“You’re drinking out of it right now aren’t you.”

“What no.”

“Bullshit Sam. I’m hanging up, I’m sleep deprived and on the phone, I can only be one of those things when I’m driving.”

“Bye”

“Bye”

That was it that call was over. The day was just beginning however, and Dean watched as dawn spread its orange fingers over the horizon. Today was going to be ugly, he could just feel it.

_________________________________

 

Cas didn’t come back to Dean’s apartment that day, or the next one, and he didn’t answer any texts. It made things difficult for Dean, who was trying to balance being supportive with giving Cas space. 

He hadn’t planned to swing by Cas’s place after work, but before he knew it, Dean was driving down the familiar street of cute houses and manicured lawns. As he pulled into Cas’s drive way and put the impala in park, Dean recognized how terrible of an idea this was. Really, he couldn’t give Cas more than a day of space? Even more troubling, was that Dean couldn’t tell if he was being clingy or not. He’d never had a boyfriend before so he didn’t have any prior experience to go off of. He was worried though, so fucking worried. Cas was practically MIA, and he’d been tense as fuck the other day.

Oh God, the door. Moment of truth, did he knock? He could turn around get in the car and drive home. There was still time. That would be ridiculous though, maybe even weirder than popping over in the first place. Shit, he had to go through with it. Dean figured it wasn’t terribly unusual for someone’s boyfriend to show up unannounced. He nodded to himself in reassurance, but his fist was sill poised in the air—ready to knock but not daring to actually do so.

“Come on Winchester.” He knocked. Three sharp announcements, one, two, three—I’m here let me in. No one did though. Dean’s only answer was more of the same. He shifted his weight onto his heels, furrowing his brows as he tried to squash down the sudden panic rupturing his chest. What if Cas wasn’t okay? He’d met the guy in a fucking mental hospital after all—anything could be behind the door. 

“Cas?!” He knocked four times this time. Still no answer. Cas was home, Dean knew it; his fucking car was parked out front! Yeah he could be out somewhere, someone else could have given him a ride, but Dean just fucking knew Cas was in there. Cas’s mental and emotional state, well that was a lot more mysterious.

“Cas open the door! You’re freaking me out man, let me know you’re alive!”

Nothing.

The world kind of stopped. Dean couldn’t tell if he was whirling too quickly or if everything else had really dropped into slow motion. Half of him said he was over reacting. Why was his heart beating out of his chest? Why was he getting tunnel vision? Because Cas hadn’t answered the door? It was dumb, paranoid even. But then the other half said no, that this was the appropriate response, because Cas had been suicidal in the past and if he’d lost his patient, what was stopping Cas from taking his own life in return?

“Dammit Cas let me in!” There was a different edge in his voice now, one that alluded to his fears and the genuine dread he couldn’t contain. He banged on the door, sweating both from the humidity and the fire in his veins.

This time he heard shuffling and the pitter patter of footsteps inside the house. The relief was instant, a shot of morphine to press the pain down.

Cas opened the door. The house was dark. No lights were on. Dean launched himself inside. 

“Don’t do that to me again!” He grabbed Cas and forced him into a hug. It felt like holding a stuffed animal. “Why didn’t you answer the door? And what happened yesterday?”

Dean let go as Cas shut the door behind them.

“Jesus Cas, it’s dark as fuck in here.”

“The light switch is…somewhere.”

Dean tilted his head (a Cas-ism he’d picked up) and squinted through the darkness. Cas was wearing his clothes from yesterday. It was obvious because they were Dean’s clothes. The 5 o’clock shadow that Cas typically wore looked more like 9 o’clock, and there was a weird stain on Cas’s pants.

“Did you sleep?”

“No”

“Did you shower?”

“No”

“You think maybe you want to do either of those things?”

“No”

“Have you been in bed this whole time?” 

“No”

Liar. Dean knew what this was. Dean was all too familiar with the tell tale signs of depression.

“Why don’t we sit down.”

Cas moved lethargically, but there was a robotic jerkiness to his movements that forced Dean to stare before he realized his mistake and pretended to look away.

“Cas?” The palm of Dean’s hand rubbed circles between Cas’s shoulder blades. He was sweaty and he didn’t lean into the touch. “What happened the other day, with your patient?”

There was a long pause.

“He survived.” 

“Shit, that’s great.” 

“He was transferred to the psych ward yesterday morning.”

“Did you see him in the hospital?” 

“Yes, he was terrified. He kept saying my name over and over, pleading with me.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I’m not sure Dean.”

“How are _you_?" 

“I don’t want to talk. I’m tired, I want to go to bed.”

“Okay.”

Cas stayed sitting on the couch. He didn’t make any moves to get up.

“Come on Cas, let’s go to bed…do you want to pee?”

No answer.

“Okay let’s pee.” Dean answered his own question as he pulled Cas up and led him to the bathroom. The time he’d been really depressed Dean had peed himself. He wouldn’t be surprised if Cas followed in his footsteps.

Cas stood in front of the toilet. He didn’t even attempt to unzip his fly. 

“Do you need to pee?”

No answer.

“Have you peed in the last five hours?" 

Cas shrugged. Dean was going to take that as a no. He sighed then felt adrenaline rush through him. His hands shook as they unzipped Cas’s pants and pulled out his penis. He must have done the same thing fifty times, but this was different so he checked Cas’s face to see if it was okay. Nothing, just a blank stare. Dean held Cas in his hand gently and aimed into the toilet.

“Pee now.” A steady stream of dark urine rippled the clear toilet water. Pee that color meant Cas hadn’t been drinking. Dean flushed, then herded Cas into his bedroom. They existed on different planes. Cas was in his own head as he stared blankly at the wall, and Dean was trying to keep himself firmly in reality as he grabbed a clean change of boxers and a fresh set of pajamas for Cas.

Dressing Cas was strange. It brought Dean back to his childhood—he’d dressed Sam a lot when he was little. He’d dressed Sam a few times when they were big too. Hair was matted to the sides of Cas’s forehead. Dean brushed the offending wisps back and ran his fingers against Cas’s scalp. It was wet with sweat.

“Do you want your sleeping pill?”

Nothing.

“You’re not going to sleep without it.” That didn’t encourage Cas to speak any more than the last few sentences had. “Hey, did you take your other medications?...Cas, this is important. Did you take them?”

“…No”

“Tell me what I should give you.”

“There’s a pill box in the bag, it has the days of the week on it.”

‘The bag’ was a vague direction, but it was all Dean was getting so he had to work with it. Did Cas mean the overnight bag he’d taken to sleepover at Dean’s house. Sure enough, that’s where the pillbox was, and Cas’s bottle of sleep aids.

Dean filled up a glass of water in the kitchen then sat on the bed next to Cas with a handful of pills. 

“Can you take all of these at the same time? That won’t hurt you?” 

“…It’s fine.” Cas put all the pills in his mouth at one time and eased them down his throat with a sip of water.

“Drink the whole thing.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad.”

Cas didn’t fight him, but Dean did have to tip the glass and pour the water into Cas’s mouth himself. Thankfully Cas had the energy to lay down on the bed himself. Dean pulled the covers over Cas’s motionless body and shut the door until there was just a centimeter of empty space against the frame. He turned on the living room light.

 

 

The phone was cold against his face as Dean cradled his head in his hands. Knowing somewhere in the back of his head that Cas was sick was different from witnessing it first hand. It was amazing how much of their time in the hospital Dean had forgotten, or maybe just willingly cast aside. He’d never seen Cas depressed though, just the other thing: manic. This was new and scary, but more viciously tragic than anything. Was that what he looked like to other people when he was depressed? How awful. 

Though he hadn’t eaten, Dean had lost his appetite. He turned on the TV but watched it half-heartedly. He was too caught up feeling to focus on seeing. Dean understood why Cas was having an episode. No doubt his patient’s suicide attempt had been the trigger. That was a shitty situation. It was clear to Dean how that could feasibly put anyone in a funk, but it was still shocking to see how quickly Cas deteriorated. The crazy thing though, was that Cas seemed so good. He’d seemed so stable and _happy_. Everything had been going well—their relationship, work, even Sam’s issues were going as well as nearly relapsing could go. Shit was looking up, but Cas’s fucking brain was pulling them back down. It’d all been a lie. That short respite where he was happy, where everything was going in the right direction for once, it’d been a trick. Dean felt stupid for buying into that taste of happiness. It was like a 30 day trial, the first little bit was free, but right when Dean couldn’t live without it, he had to pay.

He was knee deep in _The Real Housewives_ of some city when Dean realized that it was 1 AM and he didn’t have any of his pills. Dropping by had been the result of a whim, he hadn’t prepared at all—he didn’t even have a clean pair of underwear with him. 

“Fuck” He cursed under his breath. Why did shit have to be so complicated? Normal people could pop over to their depressed boyfriend’s house whenever they wanted without having to worry about falling apart at the seams because they forgot their fucking cocktail of drugs. This was ridiculous. Dean wasn’t going to sleep tonight because he forgot a pill. He needed a fucking _pill_ in order to _sleep_. Going back home was an option. But was it? There was no way he could leave Cas alone like this. But then again, Cas was out like a light. Those sleeping pills were strong. Cas wouldn’t miss him if he just popped over to his house to grab a few things then came back. Shit, he’d get locked out. He could just leave Cas’s house unlocked, but that was opening up Cas to an unnecessary risk. There was another option, he could take the key with him. It was weird—Cas was asleep so he couldn’t get his permission, and neither of them had keys to the other’s place, but it was the most practical of Dean’s options.

The key was in the kitchen in a fish shaped bowl on the counter. Dean took it. He locked up the house, got in his car, and drove to his apartment. 

Sam was sleeping, so Dean moved quietly through the dark apartment until he got into his room. It still smelled like sex. He needed to wash the sheets. When he did that would have to be determined at a later date. With the way things were going, Dean had no idea what the next few days had in store.

The first thing he put in his bag were all his pills. No way he was forgetting those when they were the reason he’d run home to begin with. Clothes and toiletries were next. Dean zipped the bag closed then stood straight and pursed his lips. After a moment of thought, he ripped through his sock drawer and grabbed the spare key to his apartment. 

The drive back to Cas’s house felt like it took way longer than it did. He unlocked the door with Cas’s key then returned it to the fish shaped bowl. Dean put on his pajamas then took his medication. For some reason he felt like he couldn’t sleep in Cas’s bed. It was almost like he was an invasive species, taking over Cas’s house and life. Cas probably wanted to be alone, but here Dean was, sleeping over unannounced and uninvited. The couch was uncomfortable though, and Dean didn’t know where the spare blankets were.

He ended up in Cas’s room one minute later. As expected, Cas was asleep, curled in on himself and clutching the corner of the pillow with his left hand. Dean plugged his phone charger into the outlet and set an alarm. Once he was under the covers exhaustion took over. Man was he tired. It had been a long day, and that was being gentile with it. Dean rolled into the center to the bed so he could be close to Cas. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep pressed up against Cas’s back, but he wanted just a few minutes of body heat, just a second of comfort. Sweat was pooling at the base of Cas’s neck, Dean could smell it. He pressed his lips against the moist skin there then rolled away so that he was back on his side. Dean moved onto his stomach and inhaled that chamomile scent he loved so much. He waited for the pill to drag him into a dreamless sleep. It didn’t disappoint. 

_________________________________

The alarm sounded and Dean jerked awake. He groaned and reached over to silence the infernal chord that kept playing on repeat. Work was always so early. Why did work always have to start at the crack of dawn, couldn’t he have just a few hours of daylight sleep? No, of course not. It wasn’t even that early, it was 7. Okay no, that was early, nothing was going to convince Dean otherwise.

Waking up in Cas’s house wasn’t weird anymore. Honestly, this place could feel a lot more like home than his actual house did. Slowly the muscles in his neck popped and cracked with his back as Dean twisted side to side. He must have slept funny—everything was sore. Dean stood up and pulled the back of his underwear into position. For some reason his butt demanded his clothes fall off while he was asleep.

Cas was in the same position he’d gone to bed in. Cas always woke up first, hell usually he ran five miles first thing in the morning. Not today. It’s not that Dean expected Cas to shoot out and go for a run, he’d expected him to skip that, but usually Cas woke up to the tiniest little sound. They were alike that way. 

“Cas? You got work buddy. I’ll make coffee.”

Nothing, Cas didn’t even stir. Dean’s brows furrowed in the center. He walked around the bed and crouched in front of Cas’s face. His eyes were open. 

“Cas?”

Still nothing. Well Cas was breathing, that was obvious, and he was blinking which Dean was going to take as a good sign, but the silent treatment was scary as fuck. 

“Are you going to go to work?” Who was he kidding? No fucking way Cas was going to see patients when he was in desperate need of a psychiatrist himself. 

Dean knew Cas had a secretary, but he didn’t know what her name was, let alone her number. He figured he could call Cas’s office, but no one would be there at this hour…but maybe in a half hour. So Dean made coffee, he brushed his teeth, and he took the fastest shower he could. Cas was still in bed, very alive but so very dead.

The office number was in Dean’s phone, but he felt that it would be weird if Cas’s cancelation came from his phone. He moved back into Cas’s dark bedroom and scrolled through the other man’s contacts.

“Dr. Novak?”

“Hey, um hi, this is uh…Dr.Novak’s…boyfriend.” Dean shrugged to himself in the darkness. This call was not off to a good start. “He’s really sick, I mean throwing up everywhere, it’s uh, it’s coming out of both ends.” Cas was going to kill him. “He can’t come into work today. Can we cancel all his…appointments?” 

“Oh, um, wow, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll inform everyone and try to reschedule. Would you tell him I’m praying for his health and that I hope he feels better?”

“Sure, yeah, you bet.”

“I heard ginger can really help with stomach problems.”

“I’ll let him know. Thanks for your help.” 

“Oh no worries let me know if he needs anything.” 

“Great…I’m going to hang up now….bye.”

That was really awkward. That was Cas level awkward. Dean was supposed to have good social skills, what the hell was that shit!? No, he couldn’t worry about phone calls that were already over. He had to go to work, but he also didn’t know if he could leave Cas alone like this. Fuck. Dean couldn’t miss work. He needed the money. Sam was working too, and Dean had no idea who Cas knew that could keep an eye on him.

“Cas, Cas, I gotta go to work. Are you gonna be okay here while I’m gone.”

No answer.

“Come on Cas, talk to me. Do you need me to stay?”

“…Go” Cas rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head in the pillow.

“Okay look. If you need something, I mean anything I don’t care how big or how little, you call me. I’ll pick up. If I don’t though for some reason, like if it’s _The Walking Dead_ out there and I’m fighting zombies, you call Sam. And if Sam doesn’t pick I’m gonna give you my friend Bobby’s number. Look, I’m leaving it here on your nightstand. Bobby’s family. You tell him Dean sent you and he’ll take care of you no questions asked. Okay?” No answer.

Dean sighed and reached into his jacket pocket. 

“I’m giving you a copy of my house key. It’s next to Bobby’s number. If you need to go there, _whenever_ , just show up. I’ll be back soon.”

Fixing cars took a backseat to Dean’s racing mind. It felt like anything could happen to Cas while he was here at work. The anxiety of it all was getting to him. He shouldn’t have come in to work. He should have stayed with Cas. But shit, he had bills to pay, every paycheck counted. Therapy was expensive. Maybe that’s what Cas needed: his therapist. Dean knew Cas saw a therapist once a week, but he had no fucking clue who they were. That would be his next course of action, getting Cas to his therapist.

“I’m back.” The house was still dark, Cas was still in his bed, and Dean was left wondering why he’d thought anything would be different. Well fuck this shit; he was turning the lights on! Dean turned on every light in the house. He turned on the lights in rooms he wasn’t even going to be in. Wallowing in the dark was going to make Cas sicker. It wasn’t good to give into depression, that just gave it power.

“Cas, did you eat?” What was the point of asking that? Dean knew the answer was no before he even asked the question. “Do you want to pee? It’s been like twelve hours.” He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it on the bed. “Come on, we’re going to pee.”

Moving Cas was difficult. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t help Dean at all. Cas was heavy too. Dean was strong but moving 160 pounds around wasn’t easy.

“Can you pee by yourself?”

No, okay.

Dean helped Cas pee and he fed him his pills. Though Dean often denied it, he was extremely paternal. The urge to care for Cas and coddle him was too strong to ignore. Once they’d gotten Cas back in his bed, Dean tried to get some information about Cas’s therapist. 

“You wanna call your therapist?”

No response, why wasn’t Dean surprised?

“Cas, you’re depressed as fuck. You need to see your therapist. What’s their number?” There still wasn’t a word from Cas who seemed to be retreating further into himself.

“What about your brother Michael. You want me to call him?”

“No.

Whoa okay, at least that got a reaction. Michael was definitely off the table then. 

“I gotta call someone. This isn’t normal man.”

“Just leave me alone.”

The next day was more of the same, as was the day after that. Dean didn’t know how to handle it. He had to go to work, but so did Cas, and he wasn’t going. Dean didn’t know how long Cas could feasibly stop seeing patients, and Hannah was starting to get suspicious.

On the fifth day of Cas’s deep depression, Dean brought groceries back with him after work. He was going to cook dinner and Cas was going to eat it. So far the only thing Cas consumed was water, and even that was a fight. At this rate Cas was going to starve. Dean refused to let that happen. 

After setting the bags down on the counter, Dean popped into the bedroom to check on Cas. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Urine. Definitely. 

“Aw shit. Cas? Cas did you pee yourself?” Like Cas was gonna respond. He’d practically been mute for a week. The light went on and Cas shut his eyes with a grimace. There was pee all over the bed, but more importantly all over Cas. 

“Why didn’t you to go the bathroom?” Dean knew why. It’d been the same as when he’d been so depressed and motionless that he’d peed the bed. Was Dean mad? Yeah, a little. But more than anger he felt fear. Fear because Cas was so sick that he’d let himself wet the bed.  So depressed that he’d been lying in cold urine for hours.

Dean moved Cas into an upright sitting position. They graduated to standing a few minutes later.

“Come on Cas, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of it.” At this point Dean didn’t know who he was trying to reassure, Castiel or himself. They made it to the bathroom slowly. The ice cream was probably melting in the kitchen and bleeding out onto the vegetables. Fuck the vegetables anyway. Dean sat Cas down on the toilet and started running water for a bath.

The water smacked against the porcelain floor of the tub. It was the loudest sound this house had heard in a week.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes.” Dean undressed Cas. His pants and his shirt, both the pajamas Dean had put him in five days ago, were damp with cold smelly urine. It was hard to stomach but Dean put on a smile anyway. He had to smile through this, if he didn’t he would cry. 

“Better already huh?” Not really. Now Cas was naked and piss soaked sitting on a toilet. The running water died as Dean turned off the faucet. Dean removed his own clothing but left his underwear on. There was a tennis ball sized hole on his right ass cheek. Looks like they were both a little disheveled.

“You gotta help me out. I can’t get you into the tub myself.” It took a lot longer than it should have to get Cas into the bath. By the time he was nestled in, Dean was covered in such a sweat that he was going to need a bath too.

The water cupped in Dean’s palms looked clean and pure. He tipped it onto Cas’s head and thumbed away a rebel water droplet that was bothering Cas’s eye. The shampoo smelled sort of dull, but clean and masculine. Dean liked it. He’d been cleaning his hair with it for a few days so it was starting to smell more like him than Cas. 

“Look, you’ve got a Mohawk.” Dean smiled down at Cas through his tee-peed finders. Cas’s hair, which looked black in the water, was almost white with the abundance of suds everywhere. “Do we have to shampoo your beard too?” Dean did. He washed off the soapsuds with gentle palm-fulls of water. He rubbed Cas’s back and chest. He even cleaned his legs and armpits.

“Alright, all clean.” The water swirled into the drain forming a miniature whirlpool in the bathtub. He toweled Cas off, making sure to rub his hair swiftly to get it half dry.

“I’ll be right back with clothes." 

The pee-drenched pajamas went into the washing machine. The sheets were stripped off the bed. They went into the wash too. Cas was dressed in a fresh pair of sweats and a clean white t-shirt. Dean was beside himself. He didn’t know what to do. Tonight was going to be different. It had to be. Instead of taking Cas to the bed (how could he?) Dean sat him on the couch. He took a sponge, dish soap, and a bowl of water into the bedroom and started on getting the pee out of the mattress. It wasn’t easy. A quick decision to turn the mattress over later, and Dean was fitting it with new sheets and pillowcases.

Cas was sitting on the couch, right where Dean left him. Well, dinner wasn’t going to cook itself. Dean put away the groceries. Cheeseburgers. Cas fucking loved cheeseburgers. The smell of grease and beef fat filled the house. It made Dean’s mouth water and stomach rumble with desire. He wondered if it was having a similar effect on Cas.

“Here, dinner is served.” The plate hung in the air on the tips of Dean’s fingers. Cas didn’t take it. “You have to eat. You haven’t eaten in days…Cas please.” Still nothing. “Dammit Cas just do something!” He didn’t.

A half hour later, when Dean had finished eating, it occurred to him that he had a whole bottle of anti-depressants at his disposal. Dean was depressed so he took anti-depressants and they made him less depressed. Cas was depressed so in theory the same principal should hold up. Dean added his cocktail of anti-depressants into Cas’s usual round of nighttime pills.

“Cas, your pills.” He took them without even blinking. Just like that, Dean’s antidepressants entered Cas’s body. Hopefully they did something.

_________________________________

It was amazing how people just never got used to the sound of their alarm. Dean had heard the same annoying little rhythm every morning for two years, but it still managed to jerk him awake. He groped around with his eyes still closed and shut the alarm off. God he was so tired. That was going to be his new normal: exhausted. His mouth was so dry. Seriously, it was like the fucking Sahara in there. Damn that dumb side effect. He opened his eyes and turned to look at Cas’s sleeping form. He wasn’t there.

Cas wasn’t in bed.

“CAS!?”

Dean threw himself off the bed. Where the fuck was Cas?! For the past week he’d only left the bed if he was physically forced too and now he was missing? Oh shit, shit, shit, shit. He could be dead. He could have gotten so bad that he decided to end it all and Dean had fucking slept through his suicide.

Dean tore through the hallway. He had the eyes of a lunatic and the frenzy of a mother looking for her lost child in the grocery store.

The light was on in the bathroom. People always slit their wrists in bathtubs in the movies! Hurricane Dean whipped the bathroom door open.

“Cas!”

“Dean?” Cas was paused in the bathroom with shaving cream covering half his face. He had a wet razor poised in midair, maybe four inches from his cheek.

“What, what’re you doing?”

“…I am shaving Dean.” 

“But, but, why?”

“I have grown a beard, and I wish to get rid of it. I have work in an hour and I need to look presentable.”

“Wait, really?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, no, shave away.” Dean had nearly had a heart attack. The prospect of coffee was enticing, but Dean was worried the caffeine would exacerbate his already skyrocketing blood pressure and actually kill him. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make coffee for Cas. If he made breakfast Cas might even eat it, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities; Cas did get out of bed after all.

Two sunny side up eggs and a piece of multigrain toast welcomed Cas into the kitchen.

“You made breakfast.” Cas looked good. His face was clean-shaven, which was unusual, but that was better than a beard. He had on a suit, he looked and smelled clean, and he was talking. 

“Yeah, so you better eat it.”

“I will.” He did. He ate the whole plate. Dean was so stunned and fucking thrilled that he almost forgot to eat his breakfast. Almost.

“Dean 

“Yeah” Holy shit Cas was engaging with him. 

“Do you have my key?" 

“Oh yeah, uh here.”

“Thanks. I have to leave for work.” 

“Oh, uh I guess I better get going too.”

Cas locked the door behind them. 

“Have a good day at work.” Dean almost shouted. Everything was so surreal.

“You too Dean.” 

Dean pulled out of the drive way then watched as Cas did the same.

Were they just not going to talk about the giant fucking elephant in the room? The elephant named Cas-was-so-depressed-that-Dean-had-to-hold-his-dick-so-he-could-pee? Dean understood avoidant behavior, he partook in it, but man, how did you just gloss over that shit? This past week was driving him to drink. But damn Cas was so much better. Could the anti-depressants have really kicked in that fast? Was that all it took? The hell if Dean knew. He just hoped Cas’s good mood lasted.

The most mysterious thing happened while Dean was at work. He got a text from Cas, except there wasn’t any text, just emojis.

 

An eggplant, a kissy face, and a tongue. Was Cas trying to SEXT him? Eggplants were dicks right? And honestly it would be weirder if Cas was just really enthusiastic about eggplant. The whole thing was so out of character and weird that Dean didn’t even respond. He might not even bring it up later. 

Dean couldn’t go back to his apartment if he wanted to. All his shit was still with Cas. Cas’s pimpmobile was in the driveway so he was home…damn, why did Dean feel so awkward knocking on the door?

Cas opened the door on the second knock. A vast improvement if you asked Dean. 

“Hey, uh, my stuff is here.”

“You’re not sleeping over?”

“Well, I mean, I can if you want.”

“You should.”

“Okay” Dean kicked his shoes off and tried to pretend he wasn’t in an episode of _The Twilight Zone_. 

“I got you something.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a key to my house.” Cas held out the key and Dean took it between his index and forefinger.

“Thank you, Cas. This is uh, kind of a big step for us. You know, giving each other keys and stuff.” Dean nearly barfed, he sounded like a total girl.

“Yes, but it’s warranted. Do you not agree?”

“What no, I want your key man.” It would have made the past week easier, that’s for sure.

“Good”

“You want dinner?”

“Yes”

“I’ll start making something.” 

Dean was minding his own business, stirring his delicious smelling soup on the stove, when someone shoved their hand down his pants and started vigorously jacking him off. 

“Cas!?”

Cas responded by sucking on the soft skin behind Dean’s ear. Unable to resist the heat creeping up his stomach, Dean bared his neck and was rewarded with Cas’s smooth jaw running up his jugular. They hadn’t fucked in a week. Dean hadn’t even rubbed one out. He was desperate and sex starved, and Cas was pulling on his dick so quickly. He wasn’t going to last.

“You like that Dean?” Cas’s breath was hot against his ear.

“Fuck”

“I’m going to make you cum so hard.”

Dean nodded his head along to Cas’s words. Cas wasn’t lying, Dean was getting there quickly. 

“Shit Cas, ah, I’m gonna cum.” The corners of his vision blurred. His legs started to shake.

“Ah! Oh, oh, fuck!” Dean’s back arched as cum shot into Cas’s hand and coated the inside of his jeans.

It was all a whirlwind, like some kind of storm just blowing through. Dean’s chest heaved as Cas pushed him onto his knees. 

“Suck me off.” 

Cas’s dick just magically appeared in his mouth. Dean was happy about it though. He sucked fervently—bobbing his head up and down the shaft quickly, relishing in the obscene slurping sounds. Cas pushed his hips forward, fucking into Dean’s mouth before grabbing the hair on top of his head in an iron vice.

“You like sucking my cock Dean?” 

“Mmf” 

“Take all of it. I want to feel your nose on my stomach.” 

Now Dean could not deep throat, but fuck if he wasn’t going to try. The muscles in his jaw went slack as he went limp to Cas’s thrusts. He inched in until he felt himself begin to gag and heard himself hack against Cas’s cock. He reared back, lapping at Cas’s balls while he caught his breath. Cas’s dick was thick and shiny with spit. Dean licked up it and engulfed the head in the wet heat of his mouth. 

“Suck my cock.” Cas was confident and demanding. He was so fucking hot it was making Dean forget all about the trauma of the past week.

“Are you my slut Dean?” Sure. At this point Dean would be anything Cas wanted him to be. He also really liked having sex with Cas so it wasn’t like he wasn’t Cas’s slut.

“Are you my little slut?” He popped Dean off his dick, holding the base of his cock in one hand and Dean’s hair in the other.

“Stick your tongue out.” Dean complied. Cas wasn’t usually this bossy but it was a sexy change. Dean hummed as Cas bobbed the head of his dick against his tongue. This respite between dick sucking continued as Cas rubbed his cock against Dean’s cheeks, leaving smears of pearly pre-cum on Dean’s face.

“Put your hands on the ground. Now.” The tiles were sticky against Dean’s palms. His green eyes widened when he saw Cas jerking himself off. 

“Open your mouth.”

Dean knew what was happening. Cas was going to cum on his face. If he didn’t want that, Dean still had time. He could stand up or shout no, but what the hell, this was fun, it was spontaneous, and he had Cas back.

Cas grunted, letting out a stream of deep low-pitched ahs, then shot all over Dean’s face. Dean’s eyes were scrunched shut but he kept his mouth open. He licked his lips as the third wave hit him right in the mouth. It’d been a week, not that long in the grand scheme of things, but Dean had almost forgotten the taste of Cas’s cum. A ridiculous thought crept into Dean’s mind. For a moment he was worried that jizz had gotten in the soup, but here he was on his hands and knees with a mouthful of the stuff. His whole face was covered in it. 

Cas pulled him up by the collar of his shirt and yanked him into a searing kiss. The cum he’d yet to swallow slipped against their tongues. 

“I need you Dean.”

“I’m here. I’m always gonna be here.”

The soup boiled over.

_________________________________

 

The next morning was hot. Dean woke up sweating like he was living in Satan’s asshole. The covers, which were thick and great for winter, were his literal enemy. Dean kicked them off and threw his legs and arms out in an X. Cas was not in bed. If Cas was back to normal, he was probably on a run. A quick check of the closet revealed Cas’s sneakers were missing and confirmed Dean's suspicions.

Fuck it was hot! It had to be like 90 degrees. You know what, fuck it. Dean was celebrating, he was making lemonade. Now Dean didn’t have a science or an art to making lemonade, he just fucking made it. It had three ingredients that was it. Throw in some ice cubs, put it in a nice tall glass, and boom, fancy fucking drink right there.

It was a little sickly sweet, kind of like the lemonade, but Dean wanted wait outside with a tall cold glass of lemonade to give Cas as he came back from his run. Dean nearly punched himself. He was such a chick. He couldn’t believe it. He blamed the pounding he’d gotten last night. Cas had fucked him into the mattress hard. Dean had always been kind of a slut, but damn if Cas wasn’t turning him into cockslut.

The kids from the houses next door were playing with water guns. They ran around on chubby little legs letting out cute high pitch screams as they shot each other with water. Those kids had the right idea. It was hot and that looked fun. Apparently it was so hot the ice in Cas’s glass of lemonade already melted! Dean groaned exasperatedly. Every time he tried to do something nice there had to be some fucking obstacle.

Dean ran into the house to refill the glass with ice. The air outside was so humid. Dean put the cold glass of lemonade against his neck as he shut the door behind him. 

A jet of water smacked him in the face. Holy shit, he was drowning in an alien stream of water. Once he could breathe again and he wasn’t being assaulted by liquid, Dean blinked the water out of his eyes and heard a chorus of giggles. Those fucking kids.

“What the f-heck!?”

There was Cas standing tall with a dripping super soaker, flanked by a gaggle of equally armed children. 

“Are you kidding me!?”

“There are no jokes in war Dean.” 

“Why am I wet!?”

“Because Emily here has lent me her Super Soaker Zombie Strike Deadshot Blaster.” Cas lifted the gun higher and aimed it right at Dean’s face.

“Shoot him!” It was a little blonde girl, and she had bloodlust in her eyes. Suddenly six water guns were cocked and aimed at him. The children’s manic giggles echoed in Dean’s ears.

“Look at you Dean, defenseless. I was prepared to show you mercy, but my compatriots here want you soaked to the bone.” 

“Come on guys, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“I want to shoot him in the butt!”

“Whoa! Reel it in kid!” That little boy was seriously messed up. 

“I’m sorry Dean, but you heard Kevin.”

Like out of a fucking movie an enemy troop of five kids heavily armed with super soakers and water balloon grenades descended on Cas’s troop. There was water everywhere. High pitch screams shot though the air as Dean ducked for cover.

“Here take this!” A boy with dark skin and Spiderman swim trunks tossed Dean what had to be a water shotgun. It had slide action and it was incredible. Dean open fired on the enemy children. They ran off, heading across the street to regroup, and leaving Dean with his saviors.

“Thanks” 

“I’m Mac” Spiderman swimsuit said as he gestured with his water gun. “That’s Casey, Kim, Aiden, and Alana.”

This kid really had his shit together.

“Dean”

“We need you to help us beat them. They have a grown-up, there’s no way we can win unless we have one too.”

“So you need me.” 

“We just saved you! You owe us!” It was Casey. She was maybe 7 or 8 with red hair and a constellation of freckles on her face.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve got a stake in this too. Their grown-up, Cas, I thought he was a friend of mine. But he betrayed me. I want revenge.” 

“Okay lets go get them!”

All the kids screamed and ran as a unit towards the house the other children had fled behind.

“Wait wait wait!”

“What!?” 

“We can’t go in guns blazing. We can’t beat them that way, we’ll be on their turf.”

“Actually that’s my house.” Aiden said as he looked up at Dean with huge brown eyes.

“Yeah but your sister is on their team.” Kim said from behind an armful of water balloons.

“We gotta strategize.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Like, make a plan.”

“Oooooh”

“I knew that!”

“Okay no one likes a know it all Mac. But good attitude, I like it. Everyone get in a circle let’s take stock of our artillery.”

“What’s an artillilly?” Alana was pretty cute; Dean wasn’t about to deny that. She was clearly the baby of the group but Dean could tell she was a wildcard.

“It’s our weapons. Let’s see what we got.”

So far three big guns, a little, like, water pistol, and 7 water balloons.

“We can’t have Kim carrying all the balloons, her arms are too full—she can’t even use them. Everyone take one, use it of you find yourself in a bad situation. Aiden you know the lay of the land, you’re my man on the inside.”

“Okay”

“What can I do!?”

“I’m getting to it Casey.” 

“Aiden, what does your backyard look like.”

“Um, there’s a swing set!”

“Awesome” 

“And there’s a tree with some bushes and, and then there are some steps and a lower part with a big rock." 

“Okay here’s what we’re gonna do. Casey and Aiden, you’re my distractors. You attack them on the side without the tree and lure them to that side. While that’s happening Kim and Alana you hide in the bushes. You’re my snipers. Try not to let them see you. Mac, you’re with me. You’re my guy, got it?” 

“Got it.” 

“We’re going after Emily and Cas.”

The plan was off to a good start. Casey and Aiden ambushed the other team in a barrage of water, shouts, and laughter. They bought Kim and Alana just enough time to dart into the bushes and get their soakers into position.

“Mac, follow me.” Dean put his back against the corner of the house and peeked into the backyard. There was no sign of Cas. Damn where could he be. A stream of water shot through the leaves, hitting a dark-haired little boy in the face.

“They’re in the bushes!”

“We’ve been found out. RUN!”

It was an all out war. Everything and everyone was wet. Dean threw his water balloon at two kids charging him when he felt a surprise jet stream on the back of his head. He spun around, mouth open in shock. 

“Hello Dean.”

“How?”

“I had an insurgent.” 

“Who?!”

A water balloon dropped directly onto Mac’s head. 

“AHHH!” 

“Where? What’s going on!?”

“Why don’t you ask Aiden and Emily?”

Giggling from high in the tree caught Dean’s attention. There was Emily, sitting in a branch, cloaked by the foliage, pointing a water gun right at his head. He could see it now, the family resemblance. Emily was Aiden’s sister. 

“This is nuts. Aiden I thought you were one of us!” 

“No Dean, he was with me this whole time.” Cas kept his face expressionless. “And now, I’m going to shoot you in the butt.” 

“I’m not going down without a fight.”

“But you will go down, one way or another.”

It was still for five long seconds, then disaster. 

Dean and Cas shot at the same time, catching each other in the chest. Dean ducked behind the house and into the chaotic scene. He dodged a grenade and shot when he saw Cas following him. 

“Raahhh!” Dean pumped the gun and let out an all out assault. Cas couldn’t help but get hit. He covered his eyes and stumbled backwards, retreating against Dean’s powerful offense. It made Dean confident. He surged forward pumping the gun and shooting passionately. Cas dropped to the ground. Dean grinned, thinking he’d won, but was shocked when Cas logrolled to the side.

“Oh shi-oot!”

Cas had gotten behind him. He was on one knee aiming. No, this couldn’t be the end.

The water jet raced towards his butt. In a last ditch effort to save his ass, Dean swiveled his hips. He dodged the water but slipped on the mud, forcing him to stumble backwards until he was falling on top of Cas and they were rolling down the slanted terrain.

“Water balloon! I need a water balloon!” Dean shouted as he and Cas repeatedly pinned each other. Cas twisted himself out of Dean’s grasp and held Dean’s torso between his thighs. The barrel of Cas’s super blaster stared Dean in the face. 

“It’s over Dean. Your butt is mine.”

“It’s always been yours Cas.”

Two blue eyes narrowed down at him. Dean’s hands ran up Cas’s wet thighs as he looked up, searching Cas’s face through wet lashes. A pink tongue darted out to wet Cas’s bottom lip.

“It’s okay Cas.” 

“There is no surrender.”

“I’m not surrendering, I’m giving in.” 

“So soon?” 

“My butt was yours from the start.”

“I told Kevin he could shoot your butt too.”

“That’s really weird but okay. It’s all okay Cas, because it’s you.” A torn expression took over Cas’s face. Just then Alana, Dean’s wildcard, hurdled her last water balloon into the air. Dean caught it in his left hand and smashed it against Cas’s butt. Cas’s mouth fell open as his eyes burst into saucers.

“It’s over Cas. I win. Your ass is mine."

“HE SAID THE A WORD!”

“Come on Aiden! You were a traitor, you can’t tell me you think the A word is worse than that!”

 

_________________________________

 

Dean showered the mud off and savored his win. Today had gotten off to a weird start, but it had been fun, a little strange, but fun. Was it a little uncomfortable explaining to Emily and Aiden’s mom what two grown ass men were doing in her backyard playing water guns with the neighborhood kids?  Yes. But overall it was worth it.

Dean was pulling his head through a shirt when Cas walked in.

“I want to by a coat.” 

“It’s like 90 degrees out there.”

“Yes, so no one else will be coat shopping.”

“I think you think that makes sense, but it actually doesn’t.”

“We are going to coat shopping.”

“Fine okay!”

Department stores were awful. You had to go through like fifty sections before you could get where you wanted to go. Right now Dean was stuck in the perfume section, practically dying as Cas got suckered into buying some weird cologne.

“This one is made with bees’ wax.” 

“Well I am fond of bees.”

“Here why don’t you smell it.” The woman sprayed Cas’s wrist. It smelled terrible, but Cas didn’t seem to notice that obvious fact. 

“I’ll take it.”

“Now you can get our 30 ml bottle, but if you get the 50 ml bottle it comes with the hand lotion.”

“Well I suppose the lotion would add to the value." 

“Oh course, it’s such a bargain really.” 

This was ridiculous.

“So the 50 ml and the lotion?” 

“Yes”

A bottle of perfume down, but no luck on the coat front. It was 90 degrees out—no store was going to have coats in stock. 

“I want to try this on Dean.” 

“You are not going to wear that. It’s a sweatshirt covered in candy bars, and it’s 200 dollars!”

“But it will motivate me to keep fit.”

“How could that possibly motivate you?" 

“Dean I want to try it on.”

“You’re insane but go ahead.”

“You have to come with me, I need your opinion on how it looks.”

“You already have mine.”

Cas shoved the utterly atrocious sweatshirt forward, nearly smacking Dean in the face.

“Dean”

“Okay I’m coming.”

Their little dressing room was a tight fit. Shopping was the worst. Dean had little patience for things like trying on clothes. He wore a variation of the same thing everyday, and it had worked out just fine for him.

“What do you think?”

“Okay first of all, it’s on backwards. But it also looks nuts. Cas you’re in your 30s, you can’t walk around covered in Snickers!” 

“So you’re saying you don’t find me attractive in this shirt?” 

“Dude no one is attractive in that shirt.”

“That’s not true. You think I look great.”

“Maybe if you took the shirt off. You can’t be mad that I don’t like the—Cas what’re you doing?” A warm puff of hot air coated the skin on Dean’s neck as he stood with his back to the wall, caged between Cas’s arms. Stubble from the edge of Cas’s chin left a red trail against Dean’s jaw. The space between them thinned, leaving their chests pressed tightly against each other.

“Cas?” Dean could feel his eyelids flutter shut while Cas slid his hands under the thin shirt he wore.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard.” Cas’s voice was deep and ragged in his ear. Dean inhaled sharply when he felt his dick harden.

“You want my cock so bad. You’re already hard.” Whispered Cas as he squeezed the front of Dean’s jeans. It motivated Dean to push his head forward in search of a kiss. He got what he wanted, and then more. Something had gotten into Cas, something hot and carnal. There was no way Dean could gain any control in this situation. Cas’s tongue was demanding and beating Dean into submission by making this kiss so good he willingly gave himself away. The zipper nearly tore open and snapped when Cas ripped into Dean’s pants.

“Oh fuck” Dean tried to keep his voice quiet, but Cas was grabbing his ass tightly and shoving their hips together

“I’m going to cover you in hickeys so everyone in the whole store will know whose slut you are.”

It felt so wrong to hear those words whispered over the sounds of the man next door trying on slacks. But fuck, Dean couldn’t get enough of Cas’s teeth on his neck or the feel of him sucking angry purple marks onto his collarbone.

“You wanna fuck me Cas? Right in this dressing room where everyone can hear you pounding my ass?” Dean wanted him to.

“I _will_ fuck you in this dressing room.”

A finger was in him. The suddenness of it made Dean squeak. If he didn’t shut the fuck up people were going to hear and they were gonna get kicked out. Dean grit his teeth, fighting the moan that wanted to urge Cas to keep searching for his prostate. Cas removed his finger so that he could spit on it. He stuck it back inside Dean roughly but evened out the pain with pleasure as he jerked on Dean’s dick, rubbing the tip with his thumb. Getting the second finger in wasn’t as easy. 

“We need lube.” It’s not like Dean carried it around with him. 

“The lotion.” Talk about serendipity. Under any other circumstances, Dean would feel pretty weird about shoving weird bee hand lotion up his ass, but he was horny as fuck and nothing was going to stop him from getting dick 

“Oh”

“Shh”

That second finger really hit the spot. He rolled back on it, biting his fist to conceal the sounds he couldn't help but let out. The third finger hurt, but Dean didn’t care. The stinging sensation worked with the frenzy they’d picked up. Dean didn’t want to have sex. He wanted to get fucked.

Cas lathered his dick with the lotion. That meant he didn’t have a condom. Dean didn’t have one either.

“Dude, I don’t have a condom.”

Cas slammed him against the wall. Someone had to have heard that. Dean’s eyes darted around wildly, searching for any sign that they were about to be thrown out. His legs were forced into the air. Cas could wield superhuman strength when he wanted to jeez.

“Neither do I. I’m going to fuck you raw and send you home leaking my cum out of your ass." 

The tip of Cas’s dick breached Dean’s hole, causing them both to close their eyes momentarily as they drank in the feeling. Dean’s legs tightened around Cas’s waist, but he could feel himself slipping even as he tried to lean back into the wall. He reached out blindly then grabbed the metal pole where the hanger from Cas’s ugly candy sweatshirt was hanging. The length of Cas’s cock slipped further inside. 

“Fuck, gimme a minute.”

“Shh, be quiet.”

“Okay but hold on.” Dean whispered sharply back. It didn’t take took long for Dean to get comfortable with the dick in his ass. Anal always required some prep, but he was getting more and more used to it every time they had sex.

“Move, fuck me.” 

Cas fucked into him with the promise of a hard angry orgasm. 

“Ah ah ah” Dean grit his teeth and forced his eyes closed as he tried to fight from blowing their cover. The sex was so good though. It was crazy, Cas was forcing him up and down on his dick in time with his thrusts and it was hitting Dean just fucking right. 

“Look at me.” Cas demanded, burying his cock in deep for good measure. Dean willed his eyes open and was taken in by Cas’s heated gaze.

“Oh fuck, ah, shit, there ah.” 

“Shh Dean. Be quiet.”

The problem was Dean no longer had a free hand to bite. He couldn’t help himself, he was being pounded into the wall for fuck’s sake! 

“Shh” Cas shoved his fingers into Dean’s mouth, effectively gagging him. Dean moaned against Cas’s hand when a particularly good thrust got in deep.

Dean turned his head to the side in a feeble attempt to reel his noises in. He caught their reflection in the mirror. Cas looked so fucking hot. Dean wanted to lick Cas’s balls as they smacked against his ass. Holy shit, he looked completely fucked out himself. No surprise there.

Sex without the condom felt better, for him, but also for Cas, because he was starting to grunt against Dean’s shoulders, and Cas usually lasted longer than this.

“Dean, ugh, ah.” A shot of hot cum filled Dean’s ass. Cas continued to fuck into him through his orgasm, using the cum to pick up speed.

A wet smack erupted when Cas pulled out. He dropped onto his knees instantly and went to work sucking Dean off. Cas used his hand, which was wet with Dean’s spit, to rub what he couldn’t get in his mouth. It was almost embarrassing how quickly Dean came. Cas swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck!”

“Shh” Cas glued his finger to his mouth. Dean shut up instantly. They still had to get out of this place without getting arrested. They pulled up their pants in unison, but Dean shivered uncomfortably when he felt his asshole clench then expand to release a heavy droplet of cum. They needed to get out of here, fast.

Not only were they suspicious as fuck, they were giggly. They were too old and big to be giggly. Maybe the staff would think they were on drugs. Cas nearly tripped four times in the women’s shoe section, and Dean had crazy eyes every time his asshole leaked jizz. They seemed like they were on drugs. One guy was glaring at them, and Dean was pretty sure it was the guy trying on pants in the fitting room next to theirs. He knew. He totally knew. 

The drive back to Cas’s house was actually pretty fun. After that round of unusually exciting sex they were both pretty chipper. In fact, Cas seemed like he was on a fucking roll. He was cracking jokes like he was…well Dean. It was such a welcome change from his previous depressed demeanor. 

“Do you have to go?” Cas asked as he watched Dean pack his bag.

“Yeah. I haven’t been home in like a week. Sam is probably freaking out.” Dean threw his bag over his shoulder and pulled his car keys out of his pocket. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow okay.” He pressed his lips against Cas’s mouth in a quick peck. “See ya!”

 

_________________________________

 

As much as he liked spending time with Cas, Dean was happy to be home with Sam. 

“I tell ya Sammy, it has been a crazy week.”

“What the hell happened?”

“So for six days he was really depressed. I mean he couldn’t get out of bed unless I carried him out.” 

“Shit” 

“Honestly, it was scary. I didn’t know what to do. I figured you know I’d call his therapist, because I don’t know what the fuck to do, but Cas wouldn’t give me their name.”

“So what did you do?” 

“I dunno, just like, took care of him. But here’s the crazy part, one day he was just better.”

“Wait? What do you mean?” Sam’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion as he tucked his hair behind his ears.

“He woke up, shaved—Sam he hadn’t gotten up to pee, he was as bad as me when I got back from the hospital—and then he went to work. Now he’s fucking happy. All he wants to do is have sex, and honestly it’s like some of the craziest shit we’ve done. My ass is-“

“Dean! Enough! I don’t want to know about…that!” 

“Hey it’s a beautiful, natural act—“ 

“Yeah but you’re my brother. I don’t want to know. Just tell me how Cas is doing.”

“He seems really good. Like he just popped out of it or something and now he’s right again.” 

“Huh”

“And you know what else is weird. We never talked about it.”

“Talked about what?” 

“His depression. It’s like it happened, but it never happened! He hasn’t even brought up his patient.”

“Did you try to talk about his patient?”

“…No.”

“Well then what do you expect?”

“Hey listen, I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.” 

“Yeah but maybe there’s something wrong with him.”

“Why would something be wrong.”

“I don’t know, you don’t think it was too quick? One second he can’t get out of bed the next he’s totally fine?”

“I mean I don’t know…you really think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to freak you out, he could be fine. Maybe just keep an eye on him.”

“Okay fine.”

 _________________________________

 

The next day Dean knocked on Cas’s door with a copy of _Gladiator_ and a Pizza in his hand.

“Dean! Come in.”

There were boxes everywhere. Dean stood still and stared open mouthed around him. There must have been at least 20 cases of wine, and maybe 10 crates of vegetables. Then Dean saw it. In the corner, next to the…enormous new TV, was a fucking pig’s leg. 

“Cas, what is going on?” Dean threw his eyes over to Cas and searched his face for some kind of clue.

“I have decided to start a catering business.”

“But you have a job already.”

“Now I have two.”

“But, but you don’t cook.” 

“I can learn. I know it will be a very lucrative endeavor. I plan to work my way up, start up with weddings, then galas, and then host the upcoming Presidential Inauguration.” 

“Cas, you’re losing me here a little.” Yeah this wasn’t right. This was weird as fuck.

“Did you know Dean, that penguins have knees.” 

“Okay but why is there part of a dead animal in your house. And why do you have a new TV?” 

“That’s the prosciutto Dean. And that TV was on sale it was only four thousand dollars.” 

Talk about having a heart attack.

“I’m sorry, four thousand dollars?” 

“Yes. Also Dean, I purchased you and Sam gifts.”

“Cas no, okay, okay where are you going?” Dean chased Cas deeper into the house, passing boxes of plates and silverware as he went.

“Here you’ll need these.” Cas handed Dean a large bag from Petco. Dean didn’t even want to know what was inside. 

“Cas, why are you giving me 30 lizard heat lamps?” 

“The temperature is going to drop, which means mice and rats will start entering our houses in search of a place to hole up for the winter. If you put the heat lamps in your house you can attract reptiles which will eat the mice for you.”

Dred threatened to drown Dean. The pizza grease was soaking through the bottom of the cardboard box and burning his hand. Cas seemed almost like the version of himself that Dean had met at the hospital. Which meant one thing: he was manic. 

Dean turned around himself but gave up and put the pizza box on the floor.

“Cas, you need to talk to your therapist or your psychiatrist, someone, _now_.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“No, Cas, you’re sick. You need to see someone.”

“I am not sick!” Shit, he was angry.

“Come on this isn’t you! You can’t start a catering business! How much did this shit cost anyway! You’re out of your mind.” 

“You’re just jealous of me. You want the catering business for yourself.” 

“Dude no. I don’t want any part of your “catering business” at all. You gotta return all that shit. What did you do charge it all to your credit card?” 

“I do not understand why you cannot simply support me Dean. You are always like this trying to tear me down so you can make yourself feel superior.” 

“What? That’s not true!”

“Admit it, you are so empty and dead inside that you have to make everyone around you feel miserable too!”

“What the fuck Cas!?” 

“When are you going to see that this is bigger than you and I?” 

“Cas I don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about!” This was bad, really bad. Cas didn’t make any sense at all, and even worse he was getting mad. “Look, maybe you’re just irritable.”

“I am not irritable!” Cas threw one of the catering dishes against the wall. It shattered into six pieces, and forced Dean to jump in his skin.

“Don’t you understand Dean, I’m trying to keep you safe. You and Sam.” 

“From what!?” 

“From Raphael, and the other angels!” 

“You’re not making any sense.” Dean stepped back and grimaced when he felt the pizza squish under his heel. 

“They are targeting you, but I will not let anything happen to you.” Cas approached him now, arms spread open like he was inviting Dean into a hug.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Cas was talking so quickly Dean was having trouble understanding him.

“I saw the angels watching you last night. I was able to kill most of them, but a few evaded me. They want to restart the apocalypse. We cannot let that happen. We cannot.” 

“Okay, okay I’m with you buddy. Why don’t we sit down.” Dean grabbed Cas’s hand and led him to the bed. Cas immediately began undressing. 

“What are you doing?”

“They’re covered in blood I have to take them off!”

“What no there’s no blood Cas what are you talking about.” Dean realized then, that there was no point in trying to make Cas see reason. This was crazy Cas, manic Cas, and he was unreachable. Dean needed help. Cas needed help.

“Cas we need to call your therapist. We need to call someone.”

“Dean”

“Cas we gotta-“

“I need you.”

“-call someone.”

Cas pressed his lips to Dean who pushed Cas away gently.

“Look, you need help. You’re not okay.” 

“I am fine. Dean” Cas began rolling up Dean’s shirt and kissing his neck. 

“Cas no, come on.” He swatted Cas’s hands away. 

“We don’t have much time.” The desperation in Cas’s voice set off warning bells in Dean’s head. “They’re coming for us. You might make it out alive, but they will certainly kill me. I want to be with you, please Dean.” Cas moved to kiss Dean again, and this time Dean could taste the genuine fear and panic Cas was holding in his body. He could feel himself begin to break down as well. To think he’d thought things were going well. His fucking boyfriend had completely lost his mind. Everything he said was nonsense, and now Dean’s pants were off and he didn’t know what to do. 

“Dean”

The mattress felt hard against Dean’s back. His whole body felt numb. Even Cas’s body sliding against his skin was nothing. Dean did not want to do this. This wasn’t right. Cas was sick; he was so fucking sick that he was delusional and hallucinating about angels.

Dean didn’t move when he heard the cap from the lube bottle click. He stared at the ceiling when Cas entered him.

This was a mess. Dean couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the signs sooner. The water gun fight, the public sex, that wasn’t Cas. Dean didn’t even know what that had been. Cas was sick, and Dean had let it get out of hand. 

“Oh Dean, you feel so good.” 

Did he? Dean couldn’t feel a thing. The mouth kissing him barely even existed. 

“I love you Dean.”

That he felt. It felt awful.

“Cas, hold on.” Dean lifted himself up so that he could roll onto his stomach. He felt the tip of Cas’s penis circle the rim of his ass before slipping inside him. He couldn’t look Cas in the eye for this. Not after what he’d said. Not when there was 30 lizard lamps on the floor and Cas thought they were being hunted by angels. 

Cas’s thrusts pushed Dean forward on the bed. A tear rolled down his check and left a dark blue circle on the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never give anyone medication that isn't prescribed to them. It can seriously hurt them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well kids, I'm back. I don't think it would be a real fanfiction if the author didn't start dropping off the face of the earth and then apologizing profusely. What can I say, life gets in the way. Well, I'm graduating college, and that will hopefully mean more time for me to update. My plan is to get another chapter in pretty soon, because believe it or not, this bitch has got a plan. 
> 
> Maybe trigger warning for grey area rape sexual assault, just to be very very careful. Better safe than sorry with mental health :)

Words lost their meaning. Noise prevailed. The air was hot. Teeth chattered to combat the cold. Life could break down so quickly. It was amazing how little of this world made sense. Maybe that was Dean’s problem, he was always trying to make sense of things when he was better off watching the atmosphere explode around him. How much more of this could he take? 

Cas was screaming behind the door. Sounds threaded into syllables but the trail of communication stopped there. It was all in his head. Dean’s head was in his hands. 

“Who is your therapist? Please man, we need to call them.” Was he even piecing that sentence together correctly? Why wouldn’t Cas just tell him? If he’d just cooperated Dean wouldn’t have locked himself in the bathroom.

The phone no longer felt like itself. The weight of it was different, the ferocity amplified, the potential of betrayal infinite. Why did Cas have to put himself inside Dean?

A bead of cum stretched into a string and fell silently into the pool of water static in the toilet. Dean’s feet shifted, dropping his belt buckle out of his crumbled pants and onto the tile floor. No one could see him, but Dean shielded his tears from the face in his head whose expression was twisted with shame. Cas was falling apart. Someone had to be strong here, and it had to be Dean. But shit, why was it so hard? There were so many questions but the answers never seemed to come. There was no point in even asking anymore. He needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

A crash erupted from somewhere in the house. How much more of this was he going to let continue? He wasn’t powerless; he knew that when he thought rationally. There were things he could do, there had to be, but damn the air was so heavy. The bottoms of his thighs were going numb against the porcelain. Someone had to do something, why did it have to be him? What was the right thing to do? Did that answer even exist? Movies and books and shit always got it wrong. There was never a ‘follow your heart’ answer good enough. What could his heart offer him when he was locked in a bathroom trying to figure out why he felt so violated as cum dripped out of his ass and Cas threw plates against the walls? Life didn’t work in black and white, and matters of the head and heart were one in the same. That was a shitty metaphor too—feeling with your heart. All that shitty little muscle did in times of crisis was raise his blood pressure and make him clutch his chest. What could he do? What did he need to do to keep Cas safe? Would keeping him safe hurt him in harder-to-fix intangible ways? Sometimes you had to do that though—cut off the infected arm to save the whole body. Cas would forgive him right? Dean didn’t know, he didn’t know and it scared the shit out of him. Everything scared the shit out of him.

One last tear fell into Dean’s palm. This needed to end, all of it. No more fucking crying, no more sitting around with his pants down. He finally had an answer. It was ugly, it was expensive, it was necessary.

Flushing the toilet never seemed so definite before. Neither did doing his belt into place. Little moments took on the flavor of the situation. Just like tofu sizzling in a pan of soy sauce, what was once bland became savory. Dean was practically salivating as the taste of resolve sunk into his tongue. 

“Cas.” The house beyond the bathroom was a warzone. There was no room for error. One foul step and it could be on the landmine that took him out. Sweat slid down his temple where the faintest scar from the gun supposed to kill him let him live. That was just a memory now, and soon the scar would recede even further into his skin. This moment too, as he tiptoed through the house and darted around crates of plates and knives, would recede into a memory. He would live with himself after this, and so would Cas. That was Dean’s mantra, the thing he screamed silently as he felt himself grow nauseous. Would he be able to live with Cas?

“Cas!” He either didn’t hear Dean or didn’t care. Well then Dean would yell louder—turn his voice into a scream that shook the pretty little middleclass neighborhood. “CAS!”

Damn, manic Cas was nearly as unresponsive as the depressed one. So much for opposites. Since when were opposites ever truly opposites though? 

“Come on.” The fabric on Cas’s shoulder was soft against Dean’s hand. Touching him like this, just something simple like this, it’d always be a big deal. When it depreciated to being casual, to being nothing, that’s when it would mean the most.

“We’re getting in the car. Now.” He loved the smell of Cas. It was really something special. They could blind him, deaf him, rip his whole damn face off, but shit he’d know that beautiful smell anywhere. Chamomile, old book, and Dean’s own scent all mixed in—evidence that their lives were intertwined. God did that smell good. 

“Wait Dean!”

“No. We’re going now.” Cas pulled back but Dean kept his fingers digging in tight. Nothing could ever be easy. It wasn’t even surprising when Cas twisted around and nearly got Dean in the face with his elbow.

“Dammit Cas enough! Let me help you you son of a-“ The words died in his mouth because there was blood on his shirt. “What the, Cas, oh shit, fuck.”

Cas’s hands were bloody. Cut enough to release a spatter trail onto the wood floor.

“Stop! Stop struggling let me see your hands!” Their hands were almost the same size, very similar actually. They both had a couple of white scars from fucking around the way boys did when they were young and stupid, and they’d both broken two fingers before. Right now their hands couldn’t look any more different. The soft beds of Dean’s palms cupped Cas’s knuckles. Glass or porcelain, whatever it was plates were made of, left jagged gashes on the fleshy mounds covering bones at the base of his wrist. It was a fortuneteller’s worst nightmare: how could anyone read palms like these?

“Come on Cas” The pain in Dean’s voice was all to clear. Despite that, or maybe in spite of that, Cas remained on the border of impassive and fidgety. He didn’t care what Dean felt; he didn’t even care how he felt. 

There was a lot of blood, but Dean could tell it was superficial. There were probably little pieces of glass imbedded in the skin, but they didn’t have time to sit down and pick them out. Where they were going, well, Cas’d be in good hands. With a firm grasp on Cas’s wrist (he appeared to be a flight risk) Dean reach over to grab a small towel hanging off of the oven handle. He wrapped it around Cas’s hands and cursed to himself when he nearly lost his grip and Cas jerked away. 

“No we are not doing this shit. You are coming with me and that’s it.”

“Dean! Let me go! You don’t understand!”

“No I understand I just don’t care.” Put the mask on keep the shell hard. This wasn’t the time to get emotional. Emotions were weakness, they were hindrance, they were poison. But it was so hard to keep everything away from Cas. Sam sure, Dean has been hiding shit from Sam for years—it was for his own good. Cas though, Cas he could talk to. Cas he could cry to. But not anymore. No no no no. This was different now, it was all different now, and Dean had a job to do. Nothing was going to stop him, not even himself.

The impala roared to life. Thank God for this beautiful car. When everything went to hell and worse, Dean would always be able to rely on her. He checked his mirrors and looked over at Cas in the passenger seat. Cas was talking. Loudly. Dean couldn’t hear him. 

They pulled out the driveway; Dean took the car out of reverse and put it into drive. Everything was going to be fine. Just peachy. It was beautiful night. The stars swept past them at 30 miles per hour. They looked like trails of light, less like dots, kind of like angels darting around heaven. On a night like this though, it was more likely that angels were falling.

The passenger door opened and Cas leapt out in tune with the screeching of the breaks. Dean’s mouth hung limp and open as shock threatened to overtake him. He was good under pressure, he didn’t freeze. Cas had to be hurt. The brake hit the floor in record time, but still, Cas had jumped out of a fucking car. He could be dead. Dean put the car in park ran to the other side. Cas was picking himself off the pavement.

“Cas? Cas!?”

Cas was a little wobbly but sharp enough to smack Dean away once he got too close.

“Get away!” Cas sounded less like himself and more like a wild animal.

“No Cas, you need help. You’re hurt and, and you’re sick!”

“I am not! I see, I can see everything Dean. You don’t understand!”

No he didn’t, not at all.

“What what can you see!?" 

“Angels! God. He’s everywhere. The plan, the reason we’re here! I have been looking for him for years, and I finally know where he is.”

“You’re not talking sense man. There are no angels, there is no God.”

“Yes there is!” Now that was anger. “Your lack of faith does not mean I should relinquish mine!” 

“Okay okay” Dean raised his hands in surrender. This was not the time to get into a theological debate over what Dean was sure was a psychotic break. “I believe you. Angels, God, it’s all around us kumbaya. Why don’t you come back in the car and tell me about it.”

“No, I know what you are trying to do.”

“I’m not trying to do anything. I just want to hear more about your angel friends. Sound good?” Each step closer was filled with trepidation. Cas could spook at any moment, and then where would they be?

“Liar. I know you want to take me back.”

“No I don’t. I’m not gonna take you back.”

“You will. You cannot make me. I do not consent.”

“Listen I’m not gonna take you anywhere you don’t wanna go. You got nothing to worry about.” 

Cas had such pretty eyes. They were sort of sleepy, and they carried weight above and below two watery irises. What did those eyes see now as they rested on Dean? That was the thing about looking at people, they always looked back at you but you could never be sure what they saw. Who was Dean to Cas right now? Was he a man in the hospital bathroom talking about sleeping pills, a lover laughing naked in bed, or a person trying to trap him and force him back to an unknown but fearsome place?

“Let’s go back in the car.” 

“No! I will not go I refuse! Michael refused to go to Anna’s funeral! He said he would not go! Go home she said! Go home and the cow jumped over the moon. I went home but I should have stayed! I cannot think!” Bloody hands turned into bloody cheeks as Cas shook his head while gripping his face tight.

This was hospital Cas, that’s who Dean saw when he looked at him. He was the Cas that spouted nonsense, who was erratic and loquacious. When Dean looked at Cas he saw a stranger. 

“Okay then let’s sit down.” 

“I will not go! I do not consent to this search I do not!” 

“We’re not going any where. Let’s sit down right here okay.” He lowered himself on the sidewalk slowly. “Relax Cas, just take a breather. Talk to me.” Somehow, by the grace of Castiel’s God, he sat. And boy did he talk. This was mile per minute hospital Cas and he talked about fish, insects, and little fragments on his past life. This Cas was dangerous. He didn’t exist in reality and he’d thrown himself out of a moving vehicle. The impala was a 67, it didn’t have child locks, what if he jumped out again when they were on the highway? He would die.

Dean nodded his head vigorously but Cas didn’t even need the encouragement to keep talking. Very slowly, at a snail’s pace, Dean undid his belt. He kept his movements hidden under his jacket as Cas rambled on and on. This wasn’t going to be good, and Dean was sure he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

“Cas do you wan-Cas” He couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “Cas. Cas!” Forget it. Dean surged forwards, smashing their lips together in the worst kiss he’d ever had. Cas responded though, and quickly. His movements were frantic but Dean’s were calculated. As soon as Cas slipped his tongue into Dean’s mouth, Dean ripped his belt off and looped it around Cas’s wrists. The knee to his gut knocked the wind out of him but Dean was determined. He threw all of his weight onto Cas and wrestled his arms behind his back trying to tighten the belt and tie it snugly around Cas’s wrists as fast as he could. Dean actually smiled when his actions leaded to success. It felt so sick to smile for something so terrible. 

Cas’s kicked out, thrashing about wildly and trying to roll onto his knees so he could run. Dean was surprised no one has called the cops yet. For all he knew they had. Clearly his legs needed to be taken care of too. He could tie his shoe laces together. He threw himself forward, grabbing Cas’s calves, forcing both Cas and him to fall stomach first to the ground.

“Dean stop! Help someone help!” 

“Shut up! This is for your own good.” 

Of course Cas’s shoes were those weird doctor loafers without any laces. 

“Stop struggling!” Dean tried to keep Cas’s legs pinned tightly between his own as he slipped the belt from Cas’s trench coat out of the loops.

“Help! This isn’t right!”

“Trust me I didn’t think our first time doing bondage would turn out like this either.” It wasn’t really the time for jokes but Dean was known to be inappropriate in dire situations. Call it a coping mechanism. 

The knot around Cas’s ankles was ugly but it would do. Getting him into the car, well that took all the adrenaline Dean had. He slammed the doors shut and buckled his seat belt. Dean checked his rearview mirror and caught Cas’s panicked form, tied up and laying in the backseat as he screamed.

Add kidnapping to his list of indiscretions.

“No! Help! Someone help please!”

Drown it out drown it out.

“Help! Help me!” 

Don’t listen don’t listen.

“Don’t make me go there! I don’t want to go back to the hospital!”

Dean could feel the tears sting his emerging crows feet. Cas was in so much pain. He was so scared, probably more terrified than him. And what could he do? Nothing. He was aiding this trauma, he was creating pain for Cas. 

“Hey Jude…don’t make it bad.” He was off key, but hell if that mattered. 

“HELP! Someone help me!”

“T-take a sad song, and make it better.” His mother would sing him “Hey Jude” when he was a child. She didn’t know any lullabies, but she didn’t need to, “Hey Jude” had been enough for her and it was enough for her babies.

“Remember to let her into your heart” Mom had a gentile voice, kind of fragile, probably because she was insecure about her singing. He just wished he’d gotten the chance to tell her that he didn’t care when she missed a note or when her voice cracked. She had a beautiful voice, one that he could to listen to for hours. The first verse of “Hey Jude” always quelled his crying, and once they got into the chorus the tears fell away and all Dean felt was comfort. Life was better with his mom. She seemed to know all the answers. She seemed to know exactly how to take care of him, but Dean wondered if the first time the words Hey Jude left her lips, she felt as hopeless and desperate as he did now.

“Then you can start to make it better”

“Anyone! Help! Don’t take me there Dean! Don’t make me go back!”

“Hey Jude, don’t be afraid, you were made to go out and get her, the minute-“

“DEAN PLEASE!”

“-you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better.”

“Why are you doing this! Let me go! HELP! Help please!”

“Hey Jude” didn’t work. It didn’t work. It wasn’t helping Cas, it wasn’t comforting him—it was just filling the interior of the car with extra cacophony. Dean didn’t know how to help Cas now. Maybe he just couldn’t.

What would his mother think of him in this moment—singing her favorite song to his thirty four year old boyfriend in the midst of bipolar psychosis? There was no way she’d be proud, not of the way he’d handled things. Who would be proud of anyone who’d hog-tied a mentally ill person? Maybe his dad. Dad might have thought it was resourceful. But Dad would have kicked his ass for ever getting involved with Cas, not because he was a man (John could be surprisingly accepting when he wanted to be) but because he’d met him in a mental hospital. So many fuck ups. This whole situation was a big fuck up. Dean should have seen the signs sooner. Should have pushed for Cas’s doctor’s name sooner. He could have even gone through every single name in his contacts—just called and seen who they were. He should have called Cas’s brother. Maybe they weren’t close, but he had to have known who Cas was getting help from. Stupid stupid stupid. Had he gotten so invested in playing caretaker that he’d neglected Cas’s needs? That would be so like him, to continue the pattern of negligence and refuse Cas help the way he refused it for himself. 

Things would have to change, not just for Cas, or between them, but deep inside Dean. He needed to get smarter, and more humble. He needed to stop thinking he could handle things when he so obviously couldn’t. It was a hard pill to swallow, and Dean was great at taking pills, but it was time to accept that he just wasn’t good enough. He just wished he had enough resolve to let go. The truth was that he was a selfish person. Cas, and Sam too, they were all better off without him—he just couldn’t bear the thought of staying away. 

The hospital was going to get sick of seeing their faces. But Dean had bigger problems, like how he was going to get Cas into the ER. So many crazy scenarios for how this could go flashed through Dean’s mind. Should he carry Cas, unbind him, or call someone out for help? Why wasn’t their like a manual for this? When someone was choking you did CPR, and when someone was bleeding you applied pressure to the wound, but no one ever talked about what to do when someone was having an explosive manic episode.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Dean took a deep breath as he rounded to the back end of the car. He opened the door slightly and almost shut it on impulse as Cas’s feet set to strike him.

“Cas buddy, you gotta calm down.” 

“No! Someone please help!”

“I’m helping you. But you need to calm down.” 

“Let go of me!” 

“I’m not touching you.”

“Release me now!”

“Ok but if I untie you, you can’t bolt.” He was totally going to run. Dean just needed to be alert and ready. He undid the tie around Cas’s feet first and to his utter surprise Cas stayed somewhat still. Add unpredictable to the list of Cas’s complications.

“I’m gonna untie your hands okay.” Dean grimaced as he loosened the knot and saw the red marks on Cas’s wrists. Regret was such an ugly thing. Nothing had prepared him for this, and he had done something he’d never even dreamed of doing. “Come on let’s aw fuck!”

The fist connected with his jaw and sent a wave agony through his teeth. He was lucky he hadn’t bit his tongue. It wasn’t the first time he’d been hit, but it was only the second time he’d been struck by a lover; the emotional hurt was infinitely worse than the physical. Cas hadn’t meant to do it though, well he had, but it was so very clear that Cas wasn’t himself. The Cas he’d spent months with would never hurt him, not intentionally. He was sweet, caring, downright devoted to him. But shit, a lot had happened today. Could a few hours decimate the relationship they’d taken months to cultivate? A pang in his asshole caused a brutal tear to slide out of his eye. He hoped it was just a casualty of the punch, but Dean knew the truth, even if he insisted on lying to himself.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” It escalated from there, on Dean’s part mostly—Cas had been steadily out of control for a while now. Wrestling Cas out of the car was much easier said than done, and getting him into the hospital had proved particularly difficult. Thankfully their rather dramatic display in the ER got them rapid attention. 

A triage nurse came up to them immediately. The blood, screaming, and general insanity they boasted was at least good for something. 

“Sir, what’s going on are you okay?”

“No help! I’m being kidnapped!”

“He’s bipolar he’s gone completely nuts.” Dean was intervening here. No way he was going to let Cas do the talking when he couldn’t even think straight.

“He has a diagnosis?”

“Yes, we need a shrink _now_. He’s manic, I know that, and he’s done crazy shit he can’t be alone.” 

“Is, is that blood?”

“Yeah his hands, he cut them—“

“I didn’t cut them!”

“He didn’t do it to hurt himself he broke a plate and the glass got him.”

“Okay I’m gonna get him in a holding room so he can wait there for the psychiatrist. What’s your name sir?”

Cas looked around agitated but resisted answering.

“It’s Cas, shit um Castiel, Novak.” Dean spit out.

“Okay Mr. Novak can you come follow me?” 

Dean was reluctant to let go. He didn’t know what Cas would do and he’d proved dangers.

“Listen lady, nurse, um, I don’t think I should let him loose. He’s kind of violent.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“What? No, not on purpose.” Lie.

“So he did?”

“No, he like lunged. But you gotta understand he doesn’t mean it he’s totally nuts going on and on about angels and and and yeah.”

“Okay” She motioned to the front desk and within thirty seconds a man in scrubs helped usher Cas through a door.

“Shouldn’t I go with him.”

“No, Mr…?”

“It’s Dean, Dean Winchester.”

“Dean. We don’t want you in there right now because we can’t be sure you’ll be safe.”

“No I’m fine, he might need me. I don’t want him thinking I’m just dropping him off here.”

“It’s just not safe. He’s going to be okay.” 

“But what’s going to happen to him?” 

“A doctor is gonna go in, he’ll check out his health, clean up his hands. Then the psychiatrist on call will come and evaluate him. Has he been here before?” 

“I, I don’t know.” 

“Are you his brother, or friend?” 

“No no, I’m his uh, I’m his boyfriend.” It felt so weird to say aloud, almost like it delegitimized their relationship. And partner just seemed like a word reserved for procedural cop shows.

“Well Dean, can we have you fill out some paperwork for us? If he’s been here before we might have a file on him. Go sit down in the waiting room, someone will come with the papers.

Trying to give answers when you didn’t have any, that was tough. Dean wrote down what he’d seen and how Cas had acted, but he didn’t really know what medications Cas was on, or their dosages. Dean’s time in the hospital turned into an anxiety inducing waiting game. It seemed like everyone around him was in the same boat. Emergency rooms were awful. Everyone was in pain and no one was getting help. It’d been two hours, two goddamn hours, and Dean hadn’t gotten a word about Cas. 

There was only so much Candy Crush a person could take. Dean pursed his lips. He knew dimples were forming on the sides of his mouth.

 

The phone rang ten seconds after he sent the text. He probably should have specified that he was okay if he didn’t want Sam to freak out. But honestly, without even really realizing it, Dean wanted his brother. 

“Hey Sammy”

“Dean what the hell what’s going on why are you in the ER? Are you okay?” Sam sounded stressed as hell, Dean almost felt guilty; he kind of loved it though in that way people did when they were starving for the validation of their pain. 

“Yeah I’m fine don’t worry about me.” His jaw hurt like hell and a black bruise was forming.

“What, what the fuck is happening?”

“It’s uh, it’s Cas man.”

Silence. Sam must be panicking, assuming the worst. 

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He uh, um…” Dean bit his lip. He did not want to shed tears in the middle of the God forsaken waiting room. 

“Dean?”

Dean took a breath to get himself back in order. Push it down push it down.

“So Cas is bipolar.” 

“…Shit Dean.”

It was sad but accusatory, and that’s what Dean was worried about.

“Did you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you started dating him did you know?”

“I, yeah I knew. But he was so put together. You know? He was doing really good.”

“But Dean—“

“You know him. He’s got our backs, he’s a good guy—“ 

“Do you love him?”

Cas moved inside his body. The room was dark and the faint smell of sweat dissipated into the larger nothingness that was the world. Dean couldn’t feel a damn thing. He was nothing. Life was nothing.

_“I love you Dean.”_

More emptiness, but less comfortable now. Get out get out, no more, no more. He was going to be sick. He felt so much, too much. He was drowning.

“Oh fuck off Sam.” 

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Sam said as tendrils of remorse flowed through his voice. “Are you okay Dean? Do you want me to meet you there? Is Cas okay?”

“I, no I’m really okay Sam. I’m, I’m managing. I’ve been waiting in this fucking waiting room forever though.” 

“And Cas?” 

“I dunno, they took him back. He was, he was acting all kinds of nuts. He bought like all this crazy shit. There was a big pig leg _in his house_. I don’t know how much money he must’ve spent. Then he started raving about angels and how he was trying to protect us from them and he got all jumpy and shit so I took him to the ER. I don’t know if that was the right move but shit I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing Dean. He sounds like he needed help.”

“I think they’re gonna put him in the mental hospital.”

“You think?” 

“Oh yeah. I just want him back to normal. Sammy you have no idea the kind of shit he was saying and doing. It was like dealing with another person completely.”

“Well he is bipolar I guess.”

“No that’s not what the means.” The words were out of his mouth faster than he could blink and meaner than he could anticipate. That was not the answer Dean wanted from Sam. 

“Dean?”

“Him being bipolar is not the reason he—listen don’t make me regret telling you about him.”

“You’re not going to Dean, all I want to do is support you.”

“Then support Cas dammit! Just because he’s got this thing, don’t mean he’s not the same guy who you go on runs with and talk to about ancient Chinese proverbs or whatever nerd stuff you do.”

“I do support Cas. I want him to feel better and be happy, and, and I want you to be okay too. So whatever I said wrong I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah I am too Sam. I’m just trigger-happy right now. It’s been a really really bad day.”

“Mr.Winchester!?”

Dean’s head shot up at the call. A nurse was waving him over to the front desk.

“Shit Sam, I gotta go. They need me or something.”

“Okay, let me know what’s going on okay. I’ll wait up for you.” 

“Don’t”

“I’m going to. Bye”

“Bye”

“Mr. Winchester!?”

An ungraceful half-jog got Dean up to the front desk before he was able to get his cell phone back in his pocket. 

“That’s me.” 

“Do you want to go back and see Mr. Novak?”

“Yeah”

“This way”

Down the corridor and to the left. How many people died on these hospital beds? Oh to be a fly on these walls—oh to see the many ghosts wondering these halls. Misery was such a fickle thing. And how ironic was it that those trying to save lives saw the most death.

“Just in here, I think the doctor should already be in there.”

Dean opened the door and he honestly didn’t know what he’d be walking into.

“Mr. Winchester right? My name is Dr. Clay.”

“Dean, Dean is fine.”

Social norms always got in the way. All Dean wanted was to be with Cas. He just wanted to make sure he was okay. So he didn’t shake Dr. Clay’s hand, instead he darted to Cas who flinched away from him with wide bloodshot eyes and dark purple bags sinking skin into his skull. Turns out you got punished for being rude.

Dean sighed and sat in the empty chair available for him. 

“We both thought it would be a good idea to let you know what’s happening.”

Dean’s eyes searched for Cas who fidgeted and shook as he sat on the hospital bed.

“And?”

“I’ve decided that it’s best Castiel be committed to a mental hospital.” 

It wasn’t a surprise, not at all. The shock of it all still hit, and the pain of it wouldn’t stop pulsing in Dean’s head.

“Is he going back to St. Luke’s?”

“Yes, he’ll be going there again. We’re going to take him there in an ambulance and then you’ll both be in contact with the staff there.”

“So what’s gonna happen to him? How long is he gonna be there for? I mean what am I supposed to say to his patients?” He could hear himself begin to panic as his words picked up speed. He wasn’t prepared for this he didn’t know what to do.

“We’ve actually contacted his brother. He should be able to sort everything out.”

“His brother? Michael?”

“No, Gabriel I believe.”

Well great, a mysterious relative was getting thrown into the mix. Just the shit Dean needed. This wasn’t about Dean though it was about Cas and what he needed. Cas probably needed his brother. And after tonight’s events Dean wouldn’t be surprised if Cas never wanted to see him again.

“So when does he go?

“About fifteen minutes.”

A nerve in his back pinched as he turned his neck to stare at Cas. All this talking about Cas like he wasn’t four feet away was starting to make Dean feel like he was lost somewhere in a dream. Could he even engage Cas now? Would he even respond if he did?

“Cas? It’s all gonna be okay. You go in there, they’re gonna fix you up and it’s gonna be awesome.” 

“No” Cas said shakily as he seemed to enter into himself after a long absence. The sound pierced Dean deep in his core, and all the guilt he felt, all his anxieties about their future after this, amplified into something angry, something monstrous, something ready to kill him. “It won’t.”

___________________________

 

It’d only been days since he’d taken this exact same drive. Of course he was miserable—he was leaving a hospital wasn’t he? Dean eased on the breaks and stopped at the same red light that kept him waiting just over a week ago. Turns out the ways of the world really were cyclical. Things would be fine, and then the world would end, repeat repeat. That was just the way life worked for Dean. Every small apocalypse took its own specific toll on him. Man did he want to see his brother, maybe even hug him if Sam would let him. No, of course Sam would hug him; it was ridiculous to think so lowly of himself—he wasn’t so vile that his little brother would deny him comfort. He shook the negative head-talk out and inhaled deeply.

This would be a character building moment if he could just survive it. He would, he had to, because Cas was going to need him. Dean didn’t have the option of fucking up.

Sam was waiting for him just like he said he would be.

“Dean” Sam was up and rushing forward as soon as he’d heard the key in the lock. Dean blinked but felt his eyes close as Sam’s arms hugged him in the embrace he didn’t know was promised.

“Are you okay?”

They parted but the weight of Sam’s hand on his shoulder kept a necessary connection. Sam had a way of looking at people that made them want to spill their guts. Right now it was making Dean want to cry. 

“I uh, yeah Sammy, I’m-“ Here it was, the uncontrollable intake of breath, the gnash of his teeth, and the tears falling down his face.

“Dean”

“Fuck Sammy it’s nothing.” He pushed against his brother’s chest so that he could mediate their separation but also his embarrassment. He was already feeling like shit, the last thing he needed was to agonize over his fragility for the rest of the night. 

“It’s not nothing. And, and it’s okay to cry.” 

They both knew it was the wrong thing to say. It was a dick move, a knee jerk reaction implemented in the early days of John Winchester’s school of masculinity, but Dean shoved Sam back and let anger replace his sadness.

“Fuck off Sam. You wanna play therapist?” 

“No I don’t wanna play fucking therapist Dean. I’m trying to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know why you’re getting mad at me at all!” 

It was wrong, mean even, but the words were there rushing out of his mouth. Sam didn’t deserve Dean’s anger, but Dean was gonna give it to him. 

“Really you don’t know why?” Not suspiring, Dean didn’t know why he was so livid either. “Maybe because as soon as you find out Cas’s bipolar you go off and, and start accusing me and him of shit!” 

“What!? I thought you were over that Dean! I told you I was sorry!” 

“Oh you’re sorry, but you still think it don’t you? Think that I ought dump his ass while he’s in the hospital. Just wash my hands of him and his sick fucked up mind!”

“That’s not what I said you’re putting words in my mouth!” Sam was mad now too. The veins in his forearms popped out of his skin and Dean could see the undeniable clench of anger in his jaw. Good. Dean wanted Sam angry. He wanted to fight. The tears evaporated on his overheated skin.

“You’re thinking it right now Sam! You think I’m a fucking idiot for getting involved with Cas at all!”

“Yes! I do! Are you fucking happy now Dean? You wanna hear me say it!? Yeah it was stupid! What the hell were you thinking dating someone whose fucking bipolar? You talk about how you never want to go back to the hospital again and how you’re better now and how you just wanna forget that you put a fucking gun to your head, but then you go and get yourself in bed with someone crazier than you!”

“Cas isn’t crazy and neither am I! I’m fucking fine, I’m normal as hell, and Cas he’s gonna be fine too don’t you fucking worry about it you piece of shit!”

“Normal _fine_ people don’t try to kill themselves Dean! They don’t land themselves in the hospital either! You knew you were sick why the hell did you start dating someone who is gonna trigger you!?”

“I’m not sick! In case you forgot you’re a fucking drug addict! I keep you clean, I feed you, hell I wipe the shit off your ass and you wanna call _me_ sick? Look in the fucking mirror Sammy if you wanna see what a sick person looks like.”

“…What the fuck Dean?”

Silence and the hurt in Sam’s eyes, that’s what Dean was going to remember from this fight.

“I know that I’m fucked up Dean. You don’t have to remind me. And I know all the shit you’ve done for me and I’m grateful, I really am. But I’m trying and I’m doing a damn good job. I don’t need you pointing fingers at me and telling me to go to hell because you know what, this is about you. You need someone to fix because you’re too scared to point a finger where it belongs and fix yourself.”

“Are you done Sam?”

“No I’m not done! I found your body on the floor of the house we fucking live in—“

“You don’t think I’ve done the same thing but with you! How many times did you pass out almost dead because you were busy shooting up-" 

“I know Dean! I fucking know! That’s the difference between you and me! I admit it! You don’t admit shit! You won’t talk about anything to anyone!”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is Dean you don’t-“

“I don’t talk to _you_.”

“Then who do you talk to Dean!?”

“Cas. I talk to Cas, about _you_ , about everything. He’s easier to talk to than you’ve ever been.”

“Well that’s great, I’m glad you have someone to talk to.” The sarcasm was a lot meaner coming out of Sam than Dean expected it to be. “It’s really nice to know that I’m such a fuck up that you need to gossip about me, with a crazy person.” 

“Yeah well Cas wasn’t so crazy when he was talking you off your next high was he? Seemed real sane and nice then didn’t he Sammy?”

“Yeah because he wasn’t having an episode then! It’s not that Cas is bad, or that mentally ill people are always gonna be totally nuts and that we shouldn’t have them in our life, it’s just that _you_ aren’t stable enough to date someone that sick! I don’t want you getting sick over him! You should have known this was going to happen! I mean did you know he’d been hospitalized before!?”

“…Yes, because I met him in the fucking hospital because in case you forgot Sammy, I was in the fucking hospital too. Is that the kind of shit you’re gonna go around saying about me that I’m not good enough that I’m broken because I’ve been in the hospital before?”

“Dean. You met Cas, when you were in the hospital?”

“Yeah Sam are you fucking deaf?”

“Oh my God. I can’t, I can’t deal with this. You knew he was unstable the moment you fucking met him and then you started dating him when you got out. Don’t you see how irresponsible that is!?” 

“It’s fine! I _liked_ him! He made me feel like I wasn’t crazy!” 

“Well probably because he out crazied you!”

“No because he understood me! He listened to me! And he didn’t smile at me to my face but turn around and think I was gonna fall apart every two seconds.”

“Dean you do the same shit to me! You don’t think I don’t know you’re waiting for me to mess up!? You don’t think I know how you look at me, like you need to clean up all my mistakes and take care of me like we were kids again!”

“Well that’s my job!”

“No it’s not! Your job is to take care of you! No one takes care of you Dean, that’s why you ended up with a bullet in your brain! You don’t give a shit about yourself and every time I try and do anything for you, you go off on me like right now!”

“Fuck you Sam!” 

“No go fuck yourself Dean. And go put some fucking ice on your face. You clearly got punched, and if it was Cas I better not see his fucking face again.” 

“Sam!” Dean meant to run after Sam to cream at him some more, but he stood dead in his tracks as he watched his brother slam his bedroom door shut. A tentative touch to his jaw ended in pain. His face was sore, pulsing with pain that had been previously masked by rage. Rage that was still coursing through his body. Dean dropped his hand and locked himself in his room, making sure to slam the door loud enough for Sam to hear. Anger felt good. It kept his mind off of what actually hurt, occupied his time. He paced around, because that was what he did when he was angry, and he threw his shoe against the wall, which really only made him angrier. Fuck Sam. Fuck him for calling Cas crazy, and for getting mad at him. Fuck him for saying Dean didn’t take care of himself, he did, he took care of fucking everyone. He wasn’t sick he was fine. He was _fine_. Sam was the sick one. Sam was the addict. Dean was _fine_. 

It had been a nothing fight, one that Dean had started, one that Sam should have never been a part of. Dean realized that now, several hours later as he stared at the ceiling and tried to count his breaths. He gave up after one. Mindfulness exercises were fucking dumb. Too tired to be angry, Dean felt sad. Really fucking sad. It was all overwhelming, and he’d only made it worse. Cas was sick. He was being shipped off to St. Luke’s and here was Dean, picking fights with his brother who’d waited up for him in the dead of the night. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, but when Dean thought about it, this was probably exactly what he deserved. He was an asshole, a huge fucking asshole who smothered his brother, treated him like shit, and ignored all the warning signs of his boyfriend’s impending manic episode.

Maybe he did like Cas because Cas out crazied him. Maybe it felt good to not be the nuts one. Honestly though, Dean had felt a lot of stability with Cas, the whole crazy factor was secondary. No that wasn’t true. Their shared time in the hospital, their mutual familiarity with being “mentally ill”, whatever that meant, had been at the forefront of things in the beginning of their friendship. Cas was somebody who was supposed to understand him, because they were both sick, but now that it was Cas showing all the symptoms of his abnormal brain, well now Dean didn’t understand him at all. The very thing that had brought them together was tearing them apart.

Wait, tearing them apart? That thought shook Dean into an upright position. Was it over?

His top lip twitched—anxiety or some shit.

 


End file.
